Bleeding Inside
by NorthernStar
Summary: In 2003, Mickey left Sun Hill to begin a new life in MIT...but leaving the past and the memories of his rape by Martin Delaney behind will be harder than he ever imagined. Updated! Chapter 15 "Found?" - Mickey has to face up to his future...
1. New Boy in Town

Disclaimer: I don't own Mickey, sadly. I only borrow him occasionally, and don't make any profit out of it. Just fun.

Rating: 12A

Summary: Mickey Webb begins his new life in MIT… but leaving the past behind is going to be harder than he ever imagined…

Notes: This is an amalgam of several unfinished fics which I wrote as "sequels" to One of our Own.

**Bleeding Inside**

By NorthernStar

**One – **

**New Boy in Town**

**October 2003**

Rain pelted down noisily onto the roof of the car and ran in rivulets down the windscreen. Inside, the young man watched the digital clock above the CD player blink away the seconds. He was running the risk of being late - only a few more minutes left.

He should've been early. Anyone else, given the chance he now had, would be in there already, eager to begin, hungry for the challenge.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

And bloody hell, he _was._ Hungry, eager, keyed up, buzzing… He was all of that.

And more…

And that was the problem.

For the first time in his life, Mickey Webb was afraid of his job.

------

He didn't look like any new recruit she'd ever seen. He was obviously tense, but not in the way she'd expect. It wasn't new job nervous; it was something else, something that jarred. He held his narrow body so rigid it seemed like he might snap in two. His blue eyes had sunken into their sockets and were darkly shadowed, like he hadn't slept in days, making his skin look pasty, pale beyond the blonde.

_Mickey Webb_, she thought. He wouldn't last the week…

------

"And this is your desk."

The DS assigned to show him the ropes was, thank God (or perhaps Jack), female. She had the kind of ginger hair that everyone joked about, and her face was a mass of freckles, poorly disguised by her make-up. Her name was Jenna Tonkin and she seemed to be a pleasant enough person.

Mickey chucked his coat down, and gave nods and smiles at his new colleagues as Jenna pointed them out.

DI Vivian Friend came over, "Mickey," she said, handing Jenna a file. "Settling in?"

"Yes, guv."

Jenna looked over the file. "Doesn't look like a case for MIT." She said.

"Agreed. But Barton Street asked us to take a look because of a few inconsistencies that they feel could indicate murder."

Mickey glanced at the file, but he would have to move closer to look over her shoulder to get a proper look. And he couldn't.

Jenna read out the relevant bits. "A couple of PC's found an elderly man dead in his bed."

"'ardly murder." Mickey decided.

"Preliminary toxicology showed he died of a massive overdose of heroine. They found a used syringe in the bedroom, but there were no obvious signs of a struggle."

"We're waiting on the post-mortem," DI Friend told them, "but I doubt we're looking at a druggie OD'ing though."

"Have they identified the body?"

Jenna handed the file over. "Richard Stone. He was a widower."

Mickey took the file, a flash of excitement running through him. His first case in MIT.

Jenna smiled at Mickey. "In at the deep end." She said, grabbing her jacket from the desk next to Mickey's. "We'll head over the crime scene first, then talk to the PC's."

Mickey got up.

"Oh and Mickey?" Vivian Friend called after him.

He looked back at the DI.

"The DCI said he'd like a word when you get a free minute."

Mickey's stomach turned over sickly. It didn't take a genius to work out what that was about. "Sure."

------

"You always this quiet?"

Mickey dragged his eyes away from the streets rushing by the passenger window. "What?" Then he realised what she had said and shook his head. "Nah. Sorry."

"Deep thoughts?"

"Something like that." And he fell back into the emptiness of the blur rushing past, soothing and numb.

"You were at Sun Hill weren't you?" She tried again.

"Yeah."

She changed gears, her knuckles just brushing the material of Mickey's trousers. Mickey shifted his leg away and shuffled in the seat.

"It's not got the best rep in the Met." Jenna continued, completely oblivious to the man edging away from her.

He thought of Jack. "Good people though."

She chuckled. "Always are, mate. Still, bet you're glad you're out of there?"

Mickey turned back to the blur of Canley whizzing past. "Like you wouldn't believe…" He murmured.

------

The house was a typical two up-two down. A few curtains were twitching in the surrounding homes, curious at the activity in their neighbourhood. Mickey and Jenna ducked under the tapes and made their way over into the house. The bedroom was in the process of being photo-ed and forensicated.

"DS Tonkin," Jenna said, flashing her ID. "DC Webb, MIT."

The uniformed sergeant showed them around the house, talking as he went. He told them that the PC's had been called out after a neighbour had become concerned that she hadn't seen Richard Stone for a couple of days and he wasn't answering the door, which she said, wasn't like him. They had broken down the door and discovered the old man dead. Mickey listened as his eyes scanned the old man's house, now being picked over by forensics experts.

"Do you think this was a break in?" Jenna asked.

"No sign of forced entry on any of the window or on the doors."

Mickey dragged his eyes back to the sergeant, but never really looking the man in the face. "Nuffin' missing?"

He shook his head. "Wouldn't know. TV and video's untouched, but then they're old."

Jenna frowned. "Money and jewellery?"

"Perhaps. We're tracing his daughter at the moment. Hopefully she can tell us if anything's been taken."

They looked around for a while then went downstairs to talk to the PC's who found the body. They went over what they'd found and told them about the house to house enquiries, which hadn't turned up any leads but had given them some background on the man. He had been a bit of a loner, who kept himself to himself. He'd been a teacher before he retired, the woman who lived next door had told them. His wife had passed away quite young but he had a daughter, who lived in Cornwall and never really visited.

-

------

Jenna obviously took her mentoring very seriously and shepherded him into refs despite Mickey's attempts to lose her. It wasn't that he didn't like the woman, but a bit of space was rapidly becoming a necessity.

Mickey got the pasta dish, but his appetite since the rape had been largely non-existent and even small amounts of food in his stomach made him feel queasy. He picked at his lunch, spreading the pile out and moving it around to look like he really was eating.

Jenna grinned. "You eat like my half anorexic twig of a sister."

Mickey shrugged. "I 'ate pasta." He lied.

"Why'd you get it then?"

"Only 'alf decent thing there woz."

She laughed. "It's the Met, not the Ritz." She tucked into her pie with gusto. "Wouldn't've had you down as a connoisseur," she teased, "more a pie and chips, kebab after the footie sort of man."

"You don't know nuffing about me." The words were sharp, coming out before he thought about them.

"Easy, tiger." She shrugged, and fortunately didn't seem offended. "Just making conversation."

"Sorry."

She looked at him. "So how long you been DC?"

"Five years." He popped a piece of pasta into his mouth. "You?"

"5 as PC, 6 as DC and 3 as sergeant."

He was surprised. She didn't look that old. "'Ow long you been with MIT?"

"Nearly two years." She munched on a chip, regarding him with a steady gaze.

Mickey shifted.

"You're not-" She began.

Mickey put down his fork. "Just remembered. Need to see the DCI."

Jenna stared after him.

-------

DCI Malcolm Savage shut his office door and smiled at Mickey and held out his hand. It took effort to shake the man's hand. Effort which obviously didn't go unnoticed. "Sorry." The DCI apologised. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

Savage indicated the spare seat. "Sit down." He also sat behind his desk and opened a file. "Now I have your medical notes here." He said, getting straight to the point.

Mickey felt vaguely sick and looked down at his hands.

"Your doctor agreed to let you return to work," the man continued, "and Jack Meadows seemed to think it was for the best, but I must say, I have my misgivings."

Mickey looked up. "I ain't about to fall apart."

The DCI regarded him critically. Mickey forced himself to ignore the scrutiny, however much it made him uncomfortable.

"This isn't a local nick. We deal with difficult and harsh cases as a matter of routine." He told him. "I need to be able to rely on my team 110 percent."

"You can." Mickey shifted in his seat. "Look, guv, just cos I…" The word stuck and he swallowed. "Just cos of what 'appened, doesn't mean I suddenly can't do the job."

"No, but as I said, we deal with high pressure situations…" There was a sigh. "Mickey, you've been through-"

His head came up. "You know don't know nuffin' about what I've been through." It wasn't quite a snap.

"Agreed." He sat back. "Jack speaks very highly of you." He told him. "He's a hard man to impress."

Mickey didn't know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. He found he was doing that more and more just recently. He hated it.

"Because of that, I'm inclined to give you the chance to show me why he holds you in such high regard." The DCI sat back in his chair. "But that doesn't mean you get an easy ride. If you're having problems, I want to know about them."

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Mickey got up. "Is that all, sir?"

He nodded and Mickey got up to leave. He was half way to the door when Savage spoke again.

"Mickey."

He stopped, looked around.

Savage got up. Mickey had to force himself not to move away at the proximity of the man. It was normal talking distance and yet it may as well have been an inch away for the crawling of his skin.

"Welcome aboard."

Mickey forced a smile.

------

DC Leslie Loren leant against the sinks and looked at her DS. "So what's he like? The new bloke?"

Jenna paused as she fixed her lippy. "Bit quiet."

Another DC, Tanya Briggs, came out of the stalls and went to wash her hands. "Less meat on him than a chicken McNugget," she giggled, "but cute."

Leslie looked round. "How cute?"

Jenna put her lipstick away. "Just let the bloke settle in, all right." She told them and headed out of the loos.

Tanya stared after her.

------

The rest of the day was mostly legwork, they had no real leads until the post mortem came back, and it seemed as if talking was all they were doing. His head ached at all the noise and a couple of times he'd tuned Jenna out, even when she'd been interviewing. It was sloppy and stupid and he knew if he couldn't cope on the first day, then it didn't bode well for the future.

Mickey went home exhausted, slumped on the sofa bonelessly and stared at the ceiling. After a while, he got up and stuck a chicken tikka in the microwave and actually managed to eat it. Then he sat flicking through the channels as his home phone rang and rang. He wondered idly who it was, Jack perhaps, one of his mates?

Or Charlotte.

She had left a ton of messages on his answer phone, asking him to arrange his next appointment, but he didn't want to talk to his counsellor right now. She'd want to know all the details, the little details, and he just wanted to push those out of his mind right now. For someone who was supposed to be helping him, she had a nasty habit of dragging everything up and making him feel worse.

The phone stopped and a few moments later, his mobile began to ring.

He picked it up and saw "Jack" on the display.

His finger hovered on the answer button.

No.

He tossed the thing aside and let it go to voicemail.

As much as he hated being in the house, but he didn't want to go anywhere and be around people.

------

Jack put down his mobile and sighed. A part of him knew he could just go round there, knock on the door, but another argued that he didn't have the right any more. He wasn't Mickey's DCI.

Jack got up and poured himself a scotch.

There was always tomorrow…

------------------------------------------------------------

TBC...


	2. Interlude

Disclaimer: I don't own Mickey, sadly. I only borrow him occasionally, and don't make any profit out of it. Just fun.

Rating: 12A

Notes: This is an amalgam of several unfinished fics, and the italics portions here are from a dialogue only fic about Mickey's therapy.

**Bleeding Inside**

By NorthernStar

**Two – Interlude**

"_So how'd your first day go?"_

"_Don't ask."_

"_Asking's what I do."_

"…_Don't haveta answer."_

"_No, but… Mickey… these sessions are for your benefit. I know you find it difficult, but you're going to have to help me if I'm going to help you."_

"……"

"_But you're right. You do have a choice. You can choose to fight this, or you can choose to run away."_

-----

He had woken at five in the morning, covered in sweat, with his heart racing like it wanted to bust out of his chest. He had lain in the darkness, body still shuddering, but his eyes hadn't really taken in the blackness of his room. He could only see the warehouse, in his mind, and Delaney and that image was far stronger.

He hadn't gone back to sleep again.

At his desk, Mickey rubbed his tired eyes and stifled a yawn.

"It's not the bad."

He looked up at the speaker. It was Jenna.

"The results of post-mortem." She waved a finger at the files in his hands. "I know they're boring, but they shouldn't be putting you to sleep at half ten in the morning."

"Sorry."

She sat back in her chair. "You should get more sleep." She told him. "The corpse in those pics looks better than you do."

His lips twisted sarcastically. "Ta."

"Don't tell me, you lead a double life. You've got a rock band." She looked him up and down. "Bet you play guitar…maybe drums."

He felt awkward with her teasing, unsure of how to respond. And yet, just a few short weeks ago he'd have been able to tease back or play along… And now he couldn't. Didn't know how.

So he stayed in territory he did know - work.

"Nuffin' suspicious in here." He tapped a line on the post-mortem report. "Only a partial finger print on the syringe. It's not Richard Stone's and it's not on file, so whoever it was, doesn't have a criminal record."

Jenna leaned over him. "I don't understand it. There's no sign of a struggle, no suggestion of suicide, nothing was stolen… but I don't buy the idea this guy suddenly deciding drugs was the way to spend his retirement."

Her nearness was bothering him, but he could hardly move away.

"He didn't have any enemies. Didn't owe any money." She sighed. "Why would someone kill him, if they did kill him?"

"Maybe they didn't need a reason?"

"Psychopath?" She shook her head. "Not likely. You could spend a lifetime at MIT, two even, and never see one. They're rare, thank God."

He couldn't stop himself thinking bitterly of Delaney, who was the next nearest thing. And with it came the memories flashing up, so very real, and suddenly he could stand Jenna near him anymore. Mickey shot out of his chair.

She gave him a questioning smile. "Mick?"

He swallowed. "Jimmy." He managed. "Need to take jimmy."

------

The toilets were empty but the sounds of his colleagues' footfalls and voices in the corridors filtered through the walls and door, taking away the quiet that he might otherwise have found.

Mickey splashed cold water on his face, feeling anger coil in his stomach for acting like a complete idiot.

And hating himself.

He dried his face on the roll towel fixed on the wall. Then rested his head on cool metal.

He kept on pressing down until it hurt.

Then he pulled away….only to bang his head back down.

_Thump. Thump._

Pain that felt like pain…

He could deal with that.

-----

"_It ain't that… It ain't Delaney."_

"_No?"_

"_Nah…well, yeah, but it ain't."_

"……"

"_I gotta work for her."_

"_Jenna?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_And?"_

"_And I don't want her finking I'm…"_

"……"

"_You're what?"_

"……"

------

The bar was noisy and crowded, full of the Friday-nighters tanking up before moving on to the nightclubs. But the only alternatives was the local that his new colleagues used or the one frequented by the Sun Hill relief and Mickey didn't want to run into either.

Jack got them both beers and they sat at the back, where the roar of the crowds wasn't quite so bad and talking was at least possible.

But the work-related conversation dried up quickly and turned into silence. And Mickey could see the real questions on Jack's face; the ones he didn't know how to ask and Mickey wouldn't know how to answer.

And it felt wrong.

He swallowed the rest of his beer quickly, suddenly wanting out of this place. This had been a really bad idea.

Jack watched him with concern. "You should go easy on that."

"Why?" He snapped.

"You've got to drive home for a start."

"Yeah…right. Sorry."

Jack reached over to lay a hand on Mickey's arm, concern now on his face.

Mickey flinched from the touch.

Jack pulled back. "Sorry."

And it was so much worse than before, because Jack knew why.

And it was just too much.

So he fled.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet. Jack hurried after him, calling his name but Mickey was narrower and could dodge between the crowds far better than his friend.

Mickey lost him in the huddle of people and went outside.

It was raining again, hard, driving rain that quickly soaked through the shirt he was wearing. He had left his jacket in the pub. And that meant he'd left his car keys in there too, buttoned up safe in a pocket, and his wallet, and his warrant card…

Mickey slumped against his car, head bowed against the rain, but the droplets ran down his face anyway.

Or was that tears?

"Mickey?"

He didn't look up.

Jack came to stand at his side. "Here." He said softly and put Mickey's jacket over his shoulders.

A sob came out, choking him.

Jack pulled him closer and held on tight.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TBC


	3. Turning, Turning, in the Widening Gyre

Disclaimer: I don't own Mickey, sadly. I only borrow him occasionally, and don't make any profit out of it. Just fun.

Rating: 12A

Warnings: Bad language ahead.

Also apologies for the overly florid chapter title, it's from a Yeats poem and the line just demanded to be used.

**Bleeding Inside**

By NorthernStar

**Part Three – **

**Turning and Turning,**

**In the Widening Gyre**

"…_Mickey… I think it's important that we talk about this."_

"_It's nuffin'."_

"_I don't agree. Returning to your old station, seeing your old colleagues, walking in the door… I don't think that was nothing."_

"……"

"_They must have been pleased to see you?"_

"_Yeah, right."_

"_It's OK to be pissed off at them."_

"_Got yer permission, ay?"_

"_Yes."_

"……"

"_So… I want you to tell me about it, moan about them if you want, OK?"_

"_Look… it weren't like that, yeah? No-one 'ad time…"_

"_No?"_

"_One of the DCs… Juliet…she was….she was stabbed."_

"_I know. I'm sorry."_

"……"

"_I think we need to talk about that too."_

------

**November 2003**

It was the laughter that tired him out, more than the dreams, more than the worry. Smiling cost him. It ought not to be like that.

Mickey had worked with Leslie Loren a lot, as well as Jenna. When Savage finally paired him with a bloke, it was something of an anti-climax in that he really didn't much notice until afterwards.

Guy Fawkes' Night turned up the kind of murder that reputations were built on. None of the team slept that night. The body of a young girl had been hidden in a bonfire. The spectators had thought it was a Guy, until someone had recognised the smell of burning human flesh and poked at it. The body had rolled out the flames, charred and black, which is how he, Savage and Jenna found it when they visited the scene.

They arrested her stepfather for murder just as the first rays of dawn lit the sky.

Mickey didn't dream of Delaney the following night, he dreamt of burning skin and flames and the girls blackened gaping open mouth. It was almost a relief.

Weeks past, work kept him away from the horror of the rest of his life, only for his sessions with Charlotte, 3 times a week, to drag them all back.

December was approaching. His brother kept calling, trying to get him to stay over Christmas, concerned that Mickey would be alone now their mother was gone. But going would mean talking – and Mickey didn't want to talk. His brother didn't know about the rape. It would stay that way.

So Mickey lied and said he was working - and then volunteered the very next day, to keep himself from being a liar. Scott Granger was delighted. It had been his name pencilled in for the 25th and now he could visit his family. His so-easy happiness made Mickey ache. He couldn't remember what that felt like.

Ever.

------

"Jack."

The man on the doorstep gave a smile as Mickey opened the door. He was holding a brown take-away bag in the crock of his left arm and the smell of Chinese food wafted in the air.

"How you doing?" Jack asked.

Mickey let him in. "Good." But it was just words. "You?"

"Yeah."

Jack followed him into the sitting room. Mickey switched off the TV.

"Thought we could share a curry." Jack said, his eyes taking in the clutter of drink cans, dirty mugs and old newspaper strew over both sofas and piled on every available surface. "Catch up a bit."

Mickey scooped up everything on the sofas and dumped it in a corner. "Already 'ad something."

Jack looked at the 'dinner' on the coffee table. "Half a pot noodle?"

Mickey moved it out of the way too.

Jack sat down. There was badly concealed concern on his face. "I hadn't heard from you." He said.

"Been a bit busy." Mickey told him. "Work. Tough case, you know how it is."

"The Holland case?"

That caught Mickey off guard. He hadn't expected Jack to go into it. "Yeah." It was lie. And they both knew it.

"I read about it in the papers." Jack opened the take-away bag and began putting the foil trays on the coffee table. "I wondered if you were working on it."

The questions bothered him and he got up. "I'll get some plates, yeah?"

In the kitchen, Mickey gripped the edge of the sink and bowed forward. He screwed his eyes up tight.

Why did it have to be so hard?

------

Jack watched Mickey picking at the curry on his plate. He'd eaten a few forkfuls of rice and a couple of prawn crackers but little else. It worried Jack more than he cared to think about. Mickey was thinner than he had ever seen him, and that was saying something. Mickey had always been one of the leanest people Jack knew, but now the bones of shoulders stuck out under the fabric of his shirt and his cheeks were hollow. His skin was pale, made worse by the dark rings under his eyes.

He looked a wreck.

But Jack didn't know how to broach the subject and could only offer him the rest of prawn crackers instead. At least he ate them, and Jack tried to be satisfied with that.

They talked about work, about DCI Savage mostly, but also his new colleagues, who sounded like a good bunch of people. Jack was heartened by Mickey's descriptions of his female colleagues, although he heard nothing to suggest that Mickey was interested in any of them.

There was time for that, Jack decided.

After a while, Mickey got out a bottle of scotch and two glasses and poured them both large measures.

Jack sipped at his. Mickey threw his own back, downing it in one gulp and poured himself another.

Jack watched, a growing worry in his chest. But he remembered the night in the pub, and what it had sparked. So he didn't say a word.

But it must have been written on his face, because Mickey looked away, ashamed. The glass clunked down when Mickey tossed it empty onto the coffee table. Then he lay back against the cushions and yawned.

"You look done in." Jack put his own glass down. "I should go."

"Nah, Jack, it's OK." He reached for the bottle. "Another one?"

"It's late." Jack got up.

There was something that might have been disappointment in Mickey's shadowed eyes. Jack couldn't tell. And then found himself saying, "can I use your loo?"

"Sure."

Jack went upstairs but stopped at the toilet door. He didn't need to use it, despite what he'd said, and his sudden impulse made sense when he saw Mickey's bedroom door. It was open and Jack could see the messy unmade bed. There were empty beer cans on the bedside table, and some on the floor.

Jack stepped closer. Next to the beer cans was a book but he couldn't see the title. Jack went in, just enough to read the name on the cover – '_Male on Male Rape: The Hidden Toll of Stigma and Shame_'- and beside that was a bottle of pills. Jack walked over and picked it up. Diazepam. Valium.

Damn.

Jack's chest felt tight. Mickey hadn't told him about that.

He turned to go, knowing what he was doing was wrong. But as he turned his eyes caught on something nestled between the messy sheets.

It was a notebook, left open. Jack immediately recognised Mickey's handwriting.

He couldn't stop himself from picking it up, even though his stomach churned sickly as he did so.

_1/10/03_

_Journal._ _Fucking stupid idea. Fucking counsellor._

_1 nightmare._

_2/10/03_

_Another fucking nightmare._ _Still a fucking stupid idea._

_3/10/03_

_2 dreams._

_4/10/03_

_Fucking Charlotte._

_5/10/03_

_No sleep. Shit. _

_6/10/03_

_I hate this._

_7/10/03_

_Didn't dream._

_8/10/03_

_FUCK._

There was a noise behind him and he turned. Mickey stood in the doorway, his face frozen into a look of horrified anger.

"Mickey, I…"

The young man stormed in and snatched the journal back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Get out!"

"I wasn't-"

"GET OUT!" He shoved Jack backwards and the older man stumbled, almost fell.

They stared at each other. Mickey's eyes were bright with anger and unshed tears.

Jack bowed his head, ashamed and angry too.

He quietly left the bedroom and went down the stairs. He saw the bottle of scotch on the coffee table as he picked up his coat. It was half empty already and he guessed it wouldn't stay that way for long. He thought about the pills with dread. But there was nothing he could say.

Not now.

Jack glanced up the stairs as he opened the front door. He didn't want to leave things like this.

He sighed.

The door banged shut behind him.

------

Mickey heard the front door click shut and slumped down on the bed. He was still clutching the stupid journal Charlotte had made him write, even though she'd never yet convinced him to put in more than a couple of sentences. He hated the thought that Jack had read it, even if it didn't say anything.

He twisted it in his hands, feeling the sharp page edges slice into his skin. He bit his lip, trying to hold in the tears. But they came anyway.

He threw the notebook across the room and gave in to the sobs.

------

"Popular boy."

Jenna was perched on the edge of his desk and gave him a grin as he walked up.

Mickey sat down. "What?"

"Your phone's been going mad." She held out a piece of paper. "Jack Meadows wants you to call him."

Mickey glanced at the message, written in Jenna's messy scrawl and then tossed it down.

"He was your old DCI, wasn't he?" The 'oh-so-casual' tone didn't fool him. She was on a fishing trip.

"Yeah."

"You miss a court date or something?"

"Nah."

"Sounded urgent."

"It's nuffin' that can't wait."

"Didn't sound like it."

Mickey screwed the paper up angrily and tossed it into the bin. "It's nuffin'."

Jenna shook her head. "Remind me never to piss you off."

------

**First Day of Advent, 2003**

The whole house stank, but the smell grew steadily worse the closer they came to the bedroom. There was an old man on the bed, face down. His body had lain there undiscovered for several days. Flies swarmed over the corpse.

"A neighbour confirmed he was David Penney." Jenna said as she pulled on her sterile gloves.

Mickey came closer, hand over his mouth to keep out the stench.

"Sarge." Leslie Loren held up something she'd just bagged. "It was under the bed."

"Syringe." Jenna looked at Mickey. "We're been here before."

Mickey nodded. "Richard Stone."

Jenna looked at the marks around Penney's wrists. "No question marks this time." She said. "Someone held him down."

Leslie frowned. "You really think they're connected?"

Jenna shrugged. "Maybe. If they are, that means Stone _was_ murdered."

Mickey leaned over the victim.

He was face down, head turned to the side; eyes still open, frozen into a forever expression. Mickey pulled his eyes away from that dead stare and felt his entire body go cold at what he saw.

There was blood on his legs, thin streaks made by a small bleed.

Mickey didn't want to, but his eyes followed those tracks to the source.

The crack between his buttocks…

Mickey took a step back, his gasp alerting Jenna to what he'd seen.

He turned away, shaking so much he had to lean on the door frame to keep his legs from buckling. His back was to the room. He couldn't look.

But he could hear Jenna's voice all the same.

"Raped."

Mickey clutched the wall and vomited.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------TBC


	4. Reactions

_Notes: Sorry it's been a while since this was last updated. My new job has me busier than the last, leaving very little time for writing. This instalment was brought to you by cold germs keeping me home. ;o)_

**Bleeding Inside**

_By NorthernStar_

**Part Four – ****Reactions**

"Here."

Mickey looked up. He was hunched against the wall outside David Penney's house. He didn't really remember how he got there. Jenna held out a steaming mug and smiled. "You'll catch your death out here, Mick."

He took the cup. The smell of coffee turned his stomach, but the bitter liquid burned away the taste of his own vomit when he took a sip.

She sat down beside him. He sipped down some more coffee, too lost in his own thoughts to really notice.

"There's always one." She murmured.

He didn't answer.

"Half the time it isn't even the ugly, blood-and-guts everywhere murders. It's just the people." She shrugged. "Something about them."

Mickey's fingers tightened around the mug, but he still didn't reply.

"I remember this woman – single mum, worked in a hotel cleaning rooms, nothing special – she was strangled." She shuddered and her eyes looked into the same distance that Mickey's was. "She wasn't even badly beaten. I'd seen worse anyway, only…" She sighed, "only…she got to me."

She fell into silence and they continued to sit like that for several minutes.

"Why?" Mickey asked eventually. His own voice sounded hollow and scratchy.

She drew a breath. "Maybe…because I could have been her," she admitted softly.

He finally looked at her, but before the question could leave his lips, her mobile began ringing and she stood up to answer it, giving him a quick smile of apology.

Mickey watched her wander out the garden gate as she talked.

Leslie came out the house, dodging around the uniforms who were tapping off the area.

"SOCO's gonna love you." She commented, leaning back against the wall. "Let's hope there wasn't some vital evidence on the spot your vomit landed."

Her nearness bothered him. He'd grown, if not comfortable with, then tolerant of Jenna's presence, but he didn't know Leslie quite so well.

She glanced at him. "You look like shit." She commented.

Jenna came over, shoving her mobile back into her pocket, looking tense. "C'mon." She said, "we've been called back."

Mickey frowned. "What?"

"Savage is turning this investigation over to Viv."

"We found him." Leslie raged.

"Yeah, and that's why you're staying on to help Viv." Jenna told her. "But me and Mickey are out."

Leslie didn't bother to hide her pleasure, completely unconcerned for anyone but herself.

Jenna looked down at Mickey. "No offence, but I'll drive." She told him wirily.

He got up, but his legs weren't nearly as shaky as he thought they were going to be.

Leslie watched him go. "And I thought Scott was green when he got here."

------

The ride back was almost completely silent. Jenna was quietly fuming that her case had been snatched without so much as a by-your-leave. She was used to passing things on; that was routine, part of the job. But now it was looking like Stone had been murdered, and maybe by the same person who'd killed Penney.

Old guys, drugs, sexual motives... That sort of case built careers.

Mickey didn't notice her silence, too busy with his own thoughts. His mind kept bringing back the image of the blood on the man's thighs and it was getting muddled with his own memories. It made him afraid, even though there was nothing to be scared of, just sitting in the car. His stomach still ached from vomiting and the coffee did nothing to settle it. He knew his hands were shaking, ever so slightly.

Finally the car stopped and Mickey realised they'd reached their destination.

Jenna pulled out the keys and looked around at Mickey. "Why do I get the feeling you're not surprised we got hauled off this case?" She demanded.

Mickey got out the car, probably more hastily than he should.

She got out too and sighed. "Sorry. Paranoid. I know it's not your fault."

Mickey felt his cheeks burn and he avoided her eyes.

She took a breath. "I just hate losing this case just when it was getting interesting."

Mickey watched her stalk off and clenched his fists. Then he followed her inside.

------

"A training programme?" Jenna tried hard to keep her temper. Whatever she had been expecting when she'd walked into DCI Savage's office, this wasn't it.

"You have the appropriate qualifications and the necessary experience." Savage reminded her.

"And so does DI Friend," she pointed out, "and DS MacManus."

"Perhaps, but I think this opportunity would be of more benefit to you."

"And Mickey?" She asked. "A kid who's only been here a few weeks?"

"He has a number of years in CID under his belt and he's been part of some very challenging cases. Admittedly I would prefer someone with a little more MIT experience, but I can't spare anyone else."

Jenna raged inside, wanting to let rip. She could smell manure when it was being dished out.

"Sir, with all due respect," she began as evenly as possible, "I can't possibly-"

"This isn't open for discussion, Jenna."

The cold note in his voice brought her up sharp. "I have Evie." She said more evenly.

"Of course, you can have the rest of today off to arrange something." He told her. "I'll not waste anymore of your time."

Thoroughly dismissed, Jenna's jaw clenched. "Sir." She ground out.

Outside the office, she kicked the wall.

------

Mickey used the time while Jenna was in with Savage to change his vomit spotted clothes. He would have liked to have taken a shower, but the ones in the locker room were communal and the thought of being walked in on made him feel sick.

As he buttoned up a fresh shirt, his mind kept bringing him back to the man lying dead on the bed and his own stupid reaction. He knew that this was the reason why Savage had pulled him off the case and somewhere under all the turmoil, the copper in Mickey agreed with his decision. A knee-jerk reaction, maybe, but probably the only one Savage could make, under the circumstances.

But it also meant that Jenna, as his unofficial babysitter, had to go with him.

Mickey was angry about the case, more on her behalf than his – Jenna had no idea she'd been assigned as Mickey's watcher and now it was costing her something.

And he hated himself for that.

His own feelings about the case were a strange mix of aching relief and burning anger, but since the rape he hadn't really been able to make sense of anything he was feeling, nor concentrate on any one emotion long enough to really express it. It was confusing and sometimes it seemed as if his feelings were the only thing that was real, and the rest of the world was just a distant echo…

But most of all, it was exhausting.

When he got to Savage's office, he'd already come to the conclusion that he and Jenna would be desk bound for a while, or possibly assigned cold cases, so Savage's announcement that he and Jenna were to go down to the home of the Hampshire Constabulary at Hamble and talk to the new recruits about murder investigations and life in the Met came as a complete shock.

When the information had finally sunk in, he frowned. "Why?"

"Why were you taken off the case?"

It hadn't really occurred to him to ask that, since it was obvious and even if Savage felt the necessity to lie to him, Mickey didn't want to hear it – not when he _knew_, deep down.

"No, I mean, why us?" Mickey asked. "You could have just put us on desk duty."

Savage almost smiled. "Jenna's actually a good candidate. As are you." He waved down Mickey's immediate denial of that. "I'm not saying there isn't better. There is. But you'll do fine and it'll look great on your record." He sat back in his chair and gave him an appraising look. "You don't object to being taken off the case?"

"Wouldn't matter if I did."

The DCI actually smiled at that. "True."

They went over the details for a while and at the end, Savage told Mickey to go home to pack. Mickey got up and went to leave. At the door, he turned back.

"I could've 'andled it." He said. But he didn't know if he was telling the truth or not.

Savage smiled. "If there's a next time – and there usually is in this job – I'm holding you to that."

------

"Take a left."

"What? 'Fought you lived on Connaught Street?"

"Yeah. Look, just take a left!"

Mickey turned and drove up the road, then took another left when she prompted, and finally stopped when she told him.

"Give me a minute." She said, getting out the car.

She disappeared into a large brick building with a sign outside saying "Little Flowers Day Nursery." Jenna came back out a few minutes later with a huge bag over her shoulder, a small child under one arm and a square cushion thing under the other.

Mickey gawped as she opened the back seat, dumped the cushion down, plonked the child down on it and strapped her in.

"Erm…"

"They weren't pleased." Jenna commented as she got back in the car. Then she caught Mickey's look. "What?"

"You got a kid?"

"Yes. Evie." She gave him an odd look. "You didn't know?" She shook her head. "There's a picture of her on my desk."

Mickey couldn't really remember seeing any photo, but then he really hadn't looked. It suddenly struck him how little he knew about Jenna. He hadn't bothered to ask. He'd been so wrapped up in his own pain.

"Evie, this is Mickey. He works with Mummy."

The little girl gave Mickey a dubious look. He smiled at her.

It didn't help.

He turned back to the wheel, "um, any more to get?"

Jenna actually laughed. "No, just drop us at home."

Mickey started the car and they began back the way they'd come.

"That's what you meant." Mickey said suddenly.

"What?"

"Back at Penney's house. That woman who coulda been you."

"Oh…" She sighed. "Yeah."

He glanced over, "so?"

"I didn't give up my career and go part time when I had her." She glanced around her child. "You know, take some low paid mind numbing job just so I could be home to pick her up from pre-school, have whole weekends off…" She gave Mickey a smile. "I thought about it…but I couldn't. I'm too selfish."

"You're a good copper."

Jenna smiled at that. "So I looked at her and I saw myself, who I could have been. She did everything right by her child but it didn't mean a thing... Had me heaving my guts up like a schoolgirl." She sighed. "So much for choices."

Then she frowned, as if something was bothering her and she didn't know what.

Mickey clutched the wheel, wondering if she was thinking of Penney and his own reaction, and kept silent for the rest of the trip.

------

**2nd Day of Advent, 2003**

Jack sat up in bed. He reached to switch on the lamp, wincing when the brightness hurt his eyes. He took the glass from the bedside table and swallowed the water. Then he reached down and took out the bottle of scotch, pouring himself a large measure.

The scotch burned down to his stomach. He hated dreaming. He hated that dream.

It was non-sensical, bland and lacking in coherency. It shouldn't have been disturbing. Maybe it wasn't so much the dream, as the guilt that fuelled it.

He wasn't anywhere in the dream. There were no surroundings, just him…and Mickey.

Only…Mickey was a child, small for his age, which must have been about 8, with a child's bony frame. Blue eyes looked out from behind a mop of unruly blond hair. He didn't look much different to the pictures Jack had of his own childhood, looking more like his son than dark haired Ben ever had.

The boy would be playing, sometimes on his bike, others with his ball, and then there would be screaming. Jack would look up from the boy to see Mickey being dragged away, kicking and twisting. The person attacking him changed – Delaney, Chandler, Gregory…even Jack himself…

And he did nothing. Just let it happen.

He would wake cursing himself for his inaction, but even though he knew it would be different in real life and that it was just a dream – only a dream – it made no difference to the anger he felt on waking.

It was just a reaction, he knew. Something his mind had thrown up, a pastiche of the helplessness he'd been plagued by from the first moment he'd learned Mickey had been raped.

And it was worse now, because he didn't know how the young man was. Mickey was refusing his calls.

He had to fix this rift between them. Now.

First thing in the morning he was going over to Mickey's.

------

"And I thought I had a rough night." Jenna commented as Mickey got into the car. He tossed his overnight bag onto the back seat somewhat cautiously, almost expecting the kiddie to be back there.

Mickey rubbed his eyes. After tossing and turning, thinking about Penney and Delaney and even worrying a little about the trip and being around the recruits, he'd finally fallen into a valium induced sleep which had ended in a nightmare. After that, he'd given up and watched the telly.

Jenna did look tired too. "You try convincing a three year old a few days at Nanny's house is a good idea. The word 'why' should be struck from the English language." She flashed him a grin as the car pulled away. "And that's nothing compared to the guilt trip they can put you on."

He laughed, more because he thought he should, than any desire to.

"So that's my excuse, Mick. What's yours?"

As the car turned the corner, another car pulled up outside Mickey's home.

------

Jack turned off the engine and looked up at the darkened windows of the house. He hoped Mickey had had enough time to calm down.

-

To be continued…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Don't worry, Mickey's involvement in the Penney/Stone case isn't over….even if he thinks it is.


	5. Falling

**Part Five – Falling**

**3rd Day of Advent, 2003**

Mickey lay back in the cold single bed and stared up into the darkness of the little guest room. It had to be well past midnight now and he was no closer to falling asleep than when he first got into bed. His head still rang from the noisy chatter of the recruits and there was still a faint zing of adrenaline in his blood from the stress of acting normal around them.

And then there was Paul.

He was one of the young lads, not even 18, with a quick grin, an even quicker mouth and the kind of swagger better suited to a man twice his height and three times his bulk.

Jenna had laughed that Mickey probably looked like that once.

But he didn't find it funny. He wanted, in a sudden panic, to tell Paul to run – get the fuck out of Police, right now, because otherwise…

Otherwise his own Martin Delaney would find him one day.

Mickey had made an excuse and found the nearest loo. He stayed there until the panic died away.

A silent tear slipped from the corner of Mickey's eye and he brushed it away angrily. But more followed.

One day down, he told himself, three to go.

-------

**4th Day of Advent, 2003**

Jack walked confidently behind the young DC as the girl led him through the MIT offices. He knew that Malcolm Savage wouldn't be too pleased at his visit, even less so when he heard the reason why.

Jack had waited outside Mickey's house for a couple of evenings running, hoping to catch the young man on his way home from work, but the house remained empty no matter how many hours Jack sat there.

He had guessed a stake out at first, but then on the following day, when there was still no sign of Mickey, even though his car was still parked outside, Jack began to worry.

And that had brought him here – to MIT.

He knew his entrance into Savage's office was a bit abrupt and lacking in the usual pleasantries, but he really didn't have time.

"Jack, what can I do for you?" Savage asked.

"Where's Mickey?"

The DCI looked a little surprised. "Hamble. He's assisting one of my DS's on a training programme for the Hampshire Constabulary."

"Hamble?" Jack frowned. "Mickey's no teacher. He's a good copper, but he's the last person I'd choose to teach recruits."

"He's only assisting." Savage told him. "And I think you underestimate him."

"I'm not." Jack shook his head. "You can't tell me Mickey was best person for that, because I know different."

"Then it will be a valuable learning experience."

Jack frowned. "There's something you're not telling me." He stated. "Why did you really send Mickey?"

Savage sighed, obviously capitulating. "At least take a seat, Jack." He offered and waited until Meadows was settled in the chair opposite. "A case he was working took a…a bad turn. It wasn't something I thought Mickey should be part of. Not now."

"Why?"

"The murder victim was raped, Jack. Male rape."

"So you sent him to Hamble?"

"I didn't want him anywhere near this investigation."

"Why not? He's a good copper. His insight could have proven useful."

"He's recovering from-"

"Yes, recovering!" Jack interrupted. "And you sent him away from the one thing that he needs most to keep on recovering – work!"

------

"Excuse me."

Mickey turned to see a brown haired woman approach. She was dressed in a charcoal business suit and had one of the loveliest smiles he'd ever seen.

"Is this the way to the main entrance?"

He shuffled his feet and pointed. "Erm, yeah, it's just up there, then turn left."

"Thanks."

She hovered a moment and when it became obvious; she looked down at her feet, "thanks." She repeated and turned to leave.

Mickey managed to mumble. "That's OK." And give her a half wave as he turned to go. "Catch you later."

"I hope so…" She said, a little hurriedly, then looked flustered, "I mean, I'm here for an interview. I hope I get the job."

Uncomfortable, Mickey forced a smile. He didn't want to talk her, didn't like her near him. "Well, good luck, yeah?" And this time he made sure he walked quickly.

Jenna hurried to catch him up and fell into step beside him. "Are you sure you're a detective?"

"What?"

"How can you miss something so obvious?"

He looked blankly at her.

"That woman. She was practically holding up a sign."

"She's 'ere for an interview."

"You should have walked her up there."

Mickey exhaled. "She weren't gonna get lost."

"No…but she looked like she would've liked you too." Jenna shook her head. "She couldn't have made it any more obvious, Mick. She fancied your skinny blonde arse!" She looked him up and down. "God knows why."

He felt a flash of pure anger. "Shut up."

Jenna stopped, frowning, more surprised by his outburst than offended by it.

Mickey kept on walking.

------

Mia Perry glanced back over her shoulder at the blond man. There had been something about him – not just looks, although he was very appealing – that had piqued her interest. She felt a little foolish now, going over there on a whim. She wasn't a schoolgirl anymore.

She sighed.

Oh well… He hadn't been interested anyway.

------

Halfway back to his room, Mickey stopped. He looked back but the woman was gone. He didn't understand his reaction. He'd liked her. Really liked her.

She was gorgeous and she has such a sweet smile... And she'd liked _him_.

And it had made him feel so awful inside.

------

That night Mickey and Jenna were invited out by a few of the training officers. Jenna had said yes for both of them, keen to let her hair down, but she'd half expected Mickey to object.

But he didn't.

He was angry at himself for feeling what he'd felt with that woman and getting completely out of his head sounded like a great idea. Maybe then he'd forget.

And maybe he'd be too drunk to dream…

The pub was loud, but at least the music was good. Mickey found a space at the bar and sank as many pints as he could. One of the girls tried flirting with him after a while, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable she was making him. But while there was scotch and beer to drown the worst of it, he didn't much care.

By midnight Mickey was so drunk he could barely stand. Someone was holding him up, arm snuggled around his waist, holding him tight like Delaney's ropes but he was so out of it he didn't know who. Her hair wasn't red; he would remember that much in the morning, so he knew it wasn't Jenna.

He barely remembered getting back to the room, but he remembered her hands were all over him when they got there. But the drink on top of the medicines he'd taken muddled his attempts to keep her away. And maybe he didn't want too.

And then he was falling backwards.

The bed was soft against his back and her knees were sharp and hard, digging into his side. His brain might have forgotten what to do, but his body remembered.

Only… he didn't really want this, but the world was all jumbled up and spinning and he didn't stop…

And then he slept.

-----

**5th Day of Advent, 2003**

The bathroom floor felt cold beneath Mickey as he knelt over the toilet bowl and wretched. There was nothing left in his stomach now, but it didn't stop his guts from clenching.

He finally stopped and sat down beside the loo, shaking and shivering.

"Mickey?" Jenna's soft voice came through the door.

He hadn't locked it in his haste, and when he didn't answer, he heard her footsteps as she entered.

She knelt beside him, a wry smile on her lips. "Never would have taken you for such a party animal." She said. "You OK?"

"Yeah."

"I'll get you a coffee and have an ask about, see if someone's got some Alka-Seltzer."

"'Fanks."

She went to ruffle his hair and he flinched back.

She frowned and lowered her hand. She was almost used to his jumpiness by now, only this time he couldn't pass it off as being surprised. She had been right in front of him. There was no way he hadn't seen her.

Mickey looked away, but unfortunately the only place to look was down the toilet and that made it glaringly obvious that he was avoiding her eyes.

He waited for her to ask the question, because he knew she would ask one day, it was only a matter of time. But it never came. Instead she got up and told him she'd be back in a few minutes.

----

The coffee and the disgustingly salty hangover cure Jenna brought him did settle his stomach a little. He topped that up with a dose of valium, not really caring if they could be taken together or not. He hated taking the stuff in the day time, but he had too. He couldn't be around all those kids without it.

When the aches eased, Mickey got into the shower. The tiles felt cold against his back as he slid down them to huddle at the bottom of the stall. Water lashed down, washing away last night, mixing with his tears, and covering the sound of his sobs.

----

Between the valium and the hangover cure, Mickey's head felt like it was packed in cotton wool, but it got him through the demonstrations and the Q and A's with yet another batch of fresh faced recruits. They were probably left with the opinion that he was a slow and miserable idiot, but what did he care anymore?

Afterwards, he and Jenna were offered a chance to join in the assault course, or take the rest of the afternoon off before their final class.

It wasn't really a choice, of course, since turning down the exercise would confirm the instructors' view that CID was a bit soft and MIT officers were too up themselves to get down and dirty.

Jenna tried begging off with the excuse that they didn't have sweats, but that only led to immediate offers of a loan.

Jenna wished she'd turned them down, pride or no pride, the moment she saw herself in her borrowed sweat pants, which sank unflatteringly between her buttocks as she walked.

And she wished it again when she saw Mickey, pale and stick-thin, in baggy sweatpants and vest.

But the moment she _knew_ she should have turned them down was when her hands slipped on the rope as she swung over the ditch and she began a face first descent into the mud.

------

Jenna sat on the grass and watched her emaciated colleague starting to lag behind the recruits. She had been forced to sit out because she'd banged her head in her fall. And that only left Mickey, flying the flag for MIT.

She sighed. So much for keeping the Met's end up…

Mickey was racing along, doing better than Jenna had given him credit for. But then he stopped…

…and collapsed.

--------------------------

TBC...


	6. Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Author's note: The chapter title comes from a poem by Robert Frost.

Part Six – Miles to Go Before I Sleep…

The doctor was a large man, with a bushy beard and small piercing eyes. He poked at Mickey for a while, listening to his heart and taking his blood pressure before drawing some blood.

Mickey hated the touching, but kept silent when all he wanted to do was shove the man away and tell him to fuck off.

"You're a little underweight." The doctor had commented, when Mickey stood on the scales. "You should consider gaining a least a stone. I'll give you a diet sheet."

The poking continued, and finally the doctor seemed satisfied that there was nothing physically wrong with him and sat back down.

"Are you taking any medication?" He asked.

Mickey looked down. He wanted to lie, ashamed at his reliance on the anti-depressants. It felt like weakness.

His pause was noticeable.

"If it's anything illegal, Mr Webb, you'd best tell me now. It'll show up in your blood work."

"It's not that." Mickey sighed. "Diazepam." He said, giving the proper name for valium. "I'm taking diazepam."

The doctor didn't blink. "Prescribed?"

Mickey looked up from his hands, angry. "Yes, prescribed! What do you take me for?"

"You're suffering from anxiety?"

Mickey felt a faint urge to laugh. "No…Yes…" He shook his head, "sort of, I dunno."

"You don't know why they were prescribed to you?"

"Look, it ain't any of your business, all right?"

"Mr Webb, you collapsed on the training course."

"I just got dizzy, that's all."

"Which is a common side effect of diazepam, especially at higher doses." The doctor said. "Your colleague tells me you were drinking heavily last night. She's concerned for your general wellbeing. And judging by your weight I'd say you were missing more meals than your eating."

"I was sick this morning." He said quickly.

"And have been for a considerable amount of time. You also appear to be suffering mild exhaustion. So yes, it is my business. Now why did your doctor prescribe you diazepam?"

"I was attacked, all right." He snapped. "They're…they 'elp me cope."

The doctor's attitude softened, "does the Met know?"

He nodded. "I been seeing a counsellor from occupational 'ealth."

"Mickey, you really need to discuss things with them again." He told him. "Your weight wouldn't normally be a cause of concern, but given your collapse…"

Charlotte had mentioned it, several times, but it wasn't his fault if he didn't really get hungry. Eating and things like shaving…it was just such a chore now.

"…You've fallen well below 9 stone. For someone of your height, that's clinically underweight. I'll get you a diet sheet and I'll be contacting your own doctor for..."

Mickey let him ramble on.

------

Jenna snapped her mobile closed in annoyance and swore under her breath. Where was the little shit? He wasn't with the doctor anymore, she had checked.

What the hell was going on with him?

There was something, she was almost certain of that now.

If he was ill, or grieving, or whatever, she wanted to know about it; she couldn't work in the dark. And she was going to find out.

----

When the doctor had finally let him go, Mickey had slipped out the main building. It wasn't even five'o'clock yet but it was already dark, making it easier to avoid being seen. Rain pelted down, quickly soaking through his thin fleece. He didn't have a place in mind to go, but his feet kept walking anyway.

He knew he was on the narrow road that led out of the grounds. It would be so easy to start walking…and walking…and walking…

He need never stop.

A car slowly crept up behind him, going no faster than he could walk. The headlights hit him, dazzled him, hurting his eyes. He squinted until the car had passed him and the brightness went away.

Dots corrupted his vision, blurring his view of the driver.

"Oi!"

He turned.

Beyond the spots was the featureless dark of the evening and…a halo of red.

Jenna.

"What is up with you?" She demanded.

He blinked but it didn't help. He still couldn't see her face.

"I waited outside for you." Her voice sounded strange. "I was worried."

He looked down. "I'm sorry, all right?"

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah…" But if he were honest, he didn't know if that was the truth. "Yeah…I just…I got dizzy."

He could see better now and he was surprised by the concern on her face. "Dizzy?" She repeated. "Mickey, I saw you, OK; that wasn't just dizzy. You collapsed."

He didn't want to get into this. "Yeah." He shrugged. "I woz 'ung-over. Made it worse."

She obviously wasn't buying that. "Are you ill?" She pressed. "Is that it?"

"No! No, course not."

"Mickey…I know something's wrong!" She wasn't quite yelling, but her pitch was getting louder. "Since the day you arrived you've been, I don't know, _off_. You haven't settled in. You always look like you haven't slept."

"That's the job."

"OK, but I never met a copper who's so uncomfortable around other people." She watched his reaction. "Even when the team are having a laugh…it's like you're only pretending."

He stared her down. "So? What of it?"

"And last night…" She shook her head. "You can't tell me that was celebrating. That was like, I don't know, alcoholism?" Her own words seemed to stun her.

"No. No, it ain't like that." He said quickly, seeing the wrong conclusion dawning in her eyes. He hated this. He didn't want to have to explain.

"Then what is it like?" She asked.

He didn't answer.

"...Mickey?"

"It's none of yer business."

"Yeah it is!" She snapped. "I'm your mate."

He felt a flicker of surprise at her assertion they were friends. He hadn't really thought of that.

"_Are_ you sick?"

"No."

"Worried about someone who's sick? Family?"

"No. Look, just leave it, yeah?"

"No, I won't. Grieving then? Someone died?"

His head came up.

"Oh…" She half smiled sadly as she realised she'd hit on the truth. "I'm sorry. Who?"

Mickey felt a deep well of sorrow. It had been so hard to find the grief, _feel_ the grief, after Delaney, it was like he hadn't mourned at all. His mother had deserved so much more.

And now he was going to use her memory…desecrate it…to hide the truth.

"My mum." The words were heavy on his lips. "Hit and run."

Jenna gently laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry." She gave him a tug and he allowed himself to be hugged.

-----

**6th December 2003**

Mickey jolted awake, gasping. He lay for a moment, breathing heavily, going through the mental list that Charlotte had taught him. It was just a dream. Delaney couldn't hurt him anymore. He was safe.

He was on his own sofa, still fully dressed with his bag at his feet, where he'd dumped it the minute he'd got home. He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

Jenna had driven them back to London that night while Mickey pretended to sleep in the passenger seat. She obviously wanted to talk about his mother, but Mickey couldn't bear the lies and the evasion and that seemed the easiest way to avoid it.

There was knock on the door and Mickey got up.

The man on the doorstep gave him a relieved smile when the door was opened.

"Jack."

-----

Jack felt the smile die on his lips as he looked at Mickey. The young man looked even worse, if that were possible, pale and unshaven. His hair was in need of a trim and the longer length was making him look younger.

Jack had practiced his apology for the last few days. But faced with the man, he'd forgotten it.

"What'd'ya want, Jack?"

"I…I came to apologise."

Mickey shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. I'm sorry. I had no right to pry." Jack gestured behind Mickey. "Can I come in?"

Mickey stepped out the way with a barely audible, "yeah."

Jack went into the living room, with was in even worse disarray than before, with mugs and beer cans and old newspapers strewn on every available surface.

Mickey caught him looking and he made a token attempt to tidy. "Yeah, I been away fer a few days." He said, as if that explained the mess.

It was on the tip of Jack's tongue to say Hamble, but he held back, unsure of Mickey's reaction to the idea that he'd been checking up after him.

Mickey led him into the kitchen and filled the kettle, then found two fairly clean mugs and gave them a rinse under the tap.

"So…how you doing?" Jack asked.

Mickey shrugged. "OK."

It felt like having a door slammed in his face. Jack felt utterly helpless. He wanted to point out that Mickey didn't look the least bit OK and shake him or yell at him until he told him how he really felt.

But he couldn't.

He didn't have the right.

Did he?

The kettle boiled and Jack watched as Mickey made them both tea, using the time to study his friend with him noticing. It hurt to see how pale and exhausted he was.

They sat down at the table to drink their teas and Jack searched for a safe topic.

"What are you working on right now?"

Mickey sipped his drink. "Nuffing." He frowned, "couple a murder cases are still on going."

"Anything interesting?"

"Nah…well, there woz but…we're off it." He stopped.

Jack waited. "Off what?"

"This old bloke, murdered in his own bed." He looked down. "He woz raped."

"That must have been difficult."

Mickey looked away and Jack could see he was fighting tears. He was silent for a long while then...

"Yeah," he said softly.

Jack felt a rush of emotion, a mix of relief and sadness. Mickey was opening up.

Finally.

"So DCI Savage took you off the case?"

Mickey nodded.

"I'd've done the same."

Whatever Mickey's response might have been, he never got to make it as his mobile began ringing, breaking the connection they'd started to make.

Jack felt like swearing.

Mickey answered his phone. It was Jenna.

"_Sorry to do this too you, Mick, but get your arse in." _Jenna's voice sounded chirpy. "_Scott's found a connection between Stone and Penney."_

"We're off the case."

"_Yeah, but Leslie's off sick and Scott needs the help."_

Mickey's insides churned, and he hated himself for being such a coward. "What about the DCI?"

"_Savage is at the Yard."_ She told him and her voice became encouraging. "_Mick, we know this case. It's _our _case."_

She didn't know what she was asking him.

It was his fault she was off this case.

He owed it to her.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

---------------

TBC…


	7. Gravity

Thanks for all the reviews so far. Sorry this took a while!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Bleeding Inside**

_By NorthernStar_

**Part Seven –** **Gravity**

Mickey hated the drive back to base, the anticipation more gut wrenching than actually being there, half sitting on the edge of his desk, doing his hardest to look casual and normal and so not bothered, listening to Scott tell them about the link between the two dead and OD'ed OAP's.

Richard Stone had been a teacher and back in the early 80's he'd worked at St Joseph's Catholic School in Hounslow. David Penney had worked there too, as a caretaker.

Scott had tracked down the head master of the school at the time and the man had offered to come in and talk about them.

The elderly man in the interview room looked frail, but his eyes were bright and the smile of greeting he gave them was genuine.

Mickey stood behind Scott and Jenna, leaning against the wall. Jenna had wanted to lead and she'd wanted Mickey at her side, but this was Scott's work and she couldn't push him out.

It took a while before the former head, Daniel Renfrew, had admitted that he'd never really liked Penney and that he had sacked the man six months after he started.

And then he told them why.

One of the boys, Matthew Bates, had made the caretaker a target, calling him filthy names and throwing dog dirt on his car.

"The kid was a trouble-maker," Renfrew snorted.

"He wasn't expelled?" Jenna asked.

"David always insisted it wasn't Matthew…until that day." The elderly man frowned, thinking back. "Matthew went crazy… I tried to calm the boy down – his brother had been taken to hospital…" He shook his head, "falling down the stairs, I think and that's what set him off. He completely smashed David's car. He was shouting…shouting such _filth!_"

"Such as?" Jenna said.

"The things he said were ridiculous!" Renfrew shook his head. "How it was David's fault Josh was in hospital. Josh was at home when he fell."

"What did he say?"

"That he was going to cut him up…chop him to pieces…sick things. And David snapped."

Jenna frowned. "In what way?"

"David hit him. Not a slap or a cuff round the head, a real hit. That boy went flying. I couldn't ignore that. So I sacked David. And Matthew was expelled. Went to a local comprehensive, I think, so did his brother. Their parents wanted to keep the boys together."

"Did David have anymore trouble with Matthew?"

"I doubt it. David moved away, to Brighton it was."

"Thank you, Mr Renfrew. You've been very helpful."

-----

Outside the interview room, Jenna looked round at Scott.

"Get an address for Matthew Bates." She told him.

"Sarge."

Then she turned to Mickey. "And we'll run his name through CRIS. What's the betting he's got form?"

-----

Matthew Bates lived in a quiet cul-de-sac on the outskirts of North London. It was a nice but plain house, probably ex-council. Jenna knocked on the door and a man fitting the photo on the PNC answered the door.

Jenna held up her ID. "Matthew Bates?"

The man nodded. "Yes?"

"DS Tonkin." She said and gestured at Mickey. "DC Webb, MIT. Can we come in?"

"Erm, yes." He held open the door. "What's this about?"

"We're investigating the deaths of two men, David Penney and Richard Stone." Jenna told him. "Did you know these men?"

The hastily concealed shock on the man's face gave them all the answer they needed.

"They…um…they worked at my school. That was 20 years ago."

"Have you seen either of them recently?"

"Not since I left."

"You were expelled." Mickey said.

"Um…yes."

"Can you tell us why?"

Matthew looked nervous. He glanced at Jenna and then back at Mickey, obviously trying to gage whether it was possible to lie or if they already knew the truth.

"I didn't…I didn't get on with Mr Penney."

"You verbally abused him, Mr Bates." Mickey said.

He swallowed, "I-I don't…recall. I was a kid."

"So it woz just a bit of fun?"

"No. I mean, yeah. Something like that." He shook his head. "Look what's all this got to do with me?"

"I have quite a temper, don't you, Mr Bates?" Jenna interrupted. "Seven convictions for assault. Was that all 'fun' as well?"

Bates looked horrified. "You can't think I killed them!"

Mickey looked hard. "Where were you on the 17th of October and the 28th of November?"

"I-I don't know. Work probably."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"My colleagues. I sell mobiles."

Mickey tuned out the details of Bates' fascinating job, leaving it to Jenna to get everything down. He looked around the house, which was neat enough, although since he was using his own rubbish dump of a home as the yard stick that probably wasn't saying much.

He knew that Bates was hiding something, although he didn't think that the man had murdered Penney and Stone. There was too much genuine shock on his face for that to be a performance.

He said as much to Jenna as they headed back to their car.

"Yeah." She agreed. "We'll get back and check his alibi. We're missing something."

------

At the other side of the road a blue car was parked. The man behind the wheel watched as Mickey and Jenna got into their car, watched when it started up and did a 180 degree turn out of the cul-de-sac.

Jack Meadows knew this was wrong; lurking in shadows, watching over Mickey. If he wanted to work on his day off, he had plenty of his own back at Sun Hill.

But he'd been sitting close enough to Mickey to overhear what Jenna had said to him on his mobile. Mickey was back working the male rape murder.

And it was too soon.

Mickey shouldn't have to do this. But there was nothing Jack could do.

Only watch, and be ready.

Jack glanced once at the house before starting his car. He was pretty sure Mickey and his sergeant would head straight back to their offices, but he didn't want to lose them in the traffic just in case.

A man hurried out the house, holding a mobile to his ear.

Jack watched as the man got into his car and pulled out, obviously in a hurry.

Jack looked in the direction Mickey had driven. But there was no way they had seen.

He had no idea why Jenna and Mickey had interviewed this man.

But like his old DCI had said, years ago, went Jack was just starting out in this game – some coppers, natural born coppers, have an instinct.

And his was telling him to follow that man.

**------**

Jenna called their information through to Scott, who went to work on checking Matthew's alibi. Mickey tuned Jenna out on the drive back. He was doing this more and more lately. Charlotte, his counsellor, had told him this disconnection was normal and it would pass in time.

**-----**

Jack watched the man slew his car to a halt in front of some terraced houses, not bothering to park it at all. The man got out and began banging on the door of number 35.

No one answered.

Jack reached for his mobile and called the address into Sun Hill. It was registered to Josh Bates – a known crack addict.

The man continued banging and yelling.

Jack dialled another number.

"Hello?"

"Mickey."

"Jack." There was obvious surprise.

"You need to get over to Allden Gardens." He told him and quickly gave him the full address.

**-----**

Mickey got there in under 15 minutes. He stopped by Jack's car and both he and Jenna got out.

Jack nodded at the man yelling through the letterbox of the house opposite.

"Matthew Bates." Jenna said, "how did you…?"

Mickey met Jack's eyes. There was anger in them.

The sound of glass smashing made them all jump.

Jenna broke into a run, hurrying over to Bates, who was attempting to climb in the window he'd broken.

Mickey followed.

"Mr Bates?" Jenna called.

The man stopped, one foot inside the house and looked around. His already pale and sweat complexion going whiter when he saw who it was.

"Do you mind stepping away from the window, sir?" Jenna told him.

Matthew stood back.

"Matthew Bates, I'm arresting you for breaking and entering, you do not-"

"I wasn't breaking in!" He cried, but Jenna continued to read him his rights.

Jack came up behind them when she had finished. "The house is rented to Josh Bates."

"My…my brother." Matthew told them.

Jenna looked at Mickey. She wasn't about to let the opportunity to search one of the Bates' houses get away. "We'd better check the house. See if anything's been stolen."

"I-I wasn't stealing… But I didn't go inside!"

"Procedure." Jack told him, knowing full well what Jenna wanted.

"Up you go then, Mick."

Mickey frowned at Jenna. "Wot?"

She grinned. "You're the only one skinny enough to get through there and open the door."

**-----**

The inside of Josh's home was a kind of mirror to his own – only 'through the glass, darkly' style. There was the same disorganisation, the same litter of food packets and unwashed dishes and things left where they were first put down and never moved, but there was also a discoloured tablespoon and a lighter on a coffee table strewn with silver foils.

The tools of an addict.

Mickey let them all in and Matthew looked plaintively around, obviously hoping to see his brother sprawled out in a drugged stupor.

But the place was empty.

They began a quick but professional search of the place and it wasn't long before Mickey heard Jenna call his name.

He turned to see what she'd got and she held out some pages torn form a newspaper.

Mickey took them.

The headline - OAP MURDERED – jumped out.

He held them up for Matthew to see and the man shook his head in disbelief as tears welled up.

"I fink you'd better start talkin' to us."

**----**

Jack made some tea while Jenna and Mickey coaxed Matthew into talking. He wanted to wade in himself, but this was an MIT case and he didn't have the right.

He also didn't want to see the anger in Mickey's eyes again.

He brought the tea out and handed the mugs out, then settled in one of the chairs.

Matthew sat on his brother's sofa, staring at the evidence of his brother's drug abuse, and shook. Jenna and Mickey sat either side of him.

"Penney was the…ring leader, I guess. He was the one who did the stuff."

Jenna frowned. "Stuff?"

"To Josh. He, um, he abused him…sexually."

Jack's eyes focused on Mickey. There was something disturbing in the numbness and complete calm on the DC's face.

"The others just watched." Tears dripped down Matthew's face. "I was the only one Josh told. I tried to…but no-one would listen. No-one would listen!"

"Ovvers?" Mickey questioned. "You said ovvers?"

"Mr Stone and Mr Tiers. They were teachers." The words choked out. "And they watched. They watched that man do those things to my brother and _they enjoyed it!_"

Mickey was already reaching for his phone.

"What was his first name?" Jenna demanded. "Mr Tiers?"

"I-I don't know. That was all we called him, Mr Tiers."

"Scott," Mickey said into his phone as he got off the sofa. It didn't really make the conversation any more private. "Call Daniel Renfrew and get the first name of a teacher called Tiers. Then get us an address for him."

"Oh my God!" Matthew cried, "you think…no!"

**-----**

They raced over to Peter Tiers flat, screeching through the darkened streets. Mickey was glad he was driving. He could shut things out when he was behind the wheel.

Peter Tiers lived on the forth floor of a block of flats. It reminded Mickey a lot of the Jasmine Allen and probably had the same sort of reputation judging by the grime and the graffiti.

Jenna knocked on Tiers door and announced it was the police. It wasn't a surprise when they heard a scream coming from inside in answer.

Mickey broke the door down.

An elderly man was sprawled on the carpet, a needle sticking out of the palm of his hand, like he'd tried to hold off the attack. He was gasping, quickly loosing consciousness. Jack knelt beside him as Jenna and Mickey rushed through the flat.

Mickey heard a noise behind him and saw a young man throw himself out of the door. Mickey shot after him, yelling. But the man didn't stop.

Mickey realised with a lurch when they got to the stairs that the young man was heading up instead of down.

Mickey's lungs heaved as he took the steps two at a time. His head felt a little dizzy from the exertion. He hadn't eaten all day and there was no fuel in his stomach. His legs ached.

They finally reached the top of the flats and the man ran down past the many doors to the very end. He all but crashed into the low wall at the end.

No where to go now.

He remembered saying that to Delaney. Just before…

Mickey stumbled to a halt, the memory crashing in on him. His limbs were trembling from the run, adrenaline keeping him upright.

The young man climbed up onto the edge of the wall, holding on to a pillar, trainers teetering on the narrow ledge. He was crying.

Mickey gasped for breath. "Josh? It's Josh, right?"

The young man nodded.

Mickey took a step forward. "I'm Mickey."

"NO! Stay back!"

"Just calm down, yeah?"

"It's never calm. Not anymore!" He looked down at the pavement below. "I wish it was."

Mickey didn't like the way the man was staring at the ground far below. "Jumping won't make it calm, Josh."

"Drugs used to make it calm." He murmured. "Didn't last."

Jenna's footsteps echoed behind Mickey but he didn't dare take a look to check that it was her, and not some gawper come to stare at the drama like it was an episode of EastEnders come to life.

"Keep away!" Josh screamed.

Mickey waved her away. His heart was thundering in his chest.

He couldn't do this. How could he talk a man out of the horror of being sexually abused when he couldn't even get past it himself? He didn't know what to say, what to do. All that training he had… Where was it now? Buried under all his own jumble of shattered emotions.

Josh's feet slid on the narrow ledge and the young man swayed back sickeningly.

There was no else.

He remembered Charlotte and her ever-lasting and annoying question/answers to his own questions. And what she'd told him when they first met, months ago now.

"Talking can help. Why don't you talk to me?"

Josh shook his head.

"You wanted to hurt Tiers, yeah? Like he hurt you?"

The man's lip trembled. "They deserved it!"

Mickey felt like a stone had lodged in his throat. "I know."

"You don't know…" It was almost a plea. "You can't know…"

"Matthew knew."

Josh let out a sob. "I thought he could stop it."

"He tried, Josh."

"I just…I want it to go away." He stared over the edge again.

Mickey lurched forward. "Josh!"

The young man wobbled and his head connected with the pillar he was holding as he swayed back and forth. "Stay back!" He yelled.

Mickey held up his hands. He was doing this badly. Jenna should be here. Not him. Josh needed someone who could help him, not a man who was shaking and angry, so very angry right now.

Josh's forehead had been scrapped and a thin trickle of red ran down his nose, mixing with his tears.

"You're bleeding." Mickey told him, his voice thick with his own held back tears. "Why don't you come down and we can get that sorted, yeah?"

Josh looked up. Really looked at Mickey for the first time. "I'm always bleeding…inside, where you can't see."

Mickey felt a sudden rush of terror. And he knew.

He knew what Josh was going to do.

"Bleeding inside…forever… " He whispered. "That's what it does."

And Josh let go.

Mickey screamed and threw himself forward. His fingers brushed against Josh's as he fell, but the DC was a split second too late, gravity took hold and the man tumbled away.

------

TBC…


	8. Descending into Darkness

Thanks for the reviews! Here's part 8 - sorry its such a downer! Also a quick warning - there's bad language ahead.

**Bleeding Inside**

_By NorthernStar_

**Part Eight - Descending into Darkness**

He had vomited, but only thin, rancid bile came up. He felt someone touch his hair and he jerked away. Jenna reached for him again, drawing Mickey's eyes to her hands. They were shaking. His reaction was to pull her to him and it wasn't until she was in his arms that he realised what he'd done.

"Jesus Christ!" She breathed against his neck.

"MICKEY!"

He knew the voice and closed his eyes against the flood of emotions it brought up.

Jack.

Mickey loosened his grip on Jenna and she stepped back. Her face was whiter than he'd ever seen it.

Jack hurried over to them, looked over the low wall briefly before turning back and asking harshly, "you all right?"

"M'okay." He choked out.

Jack reached for him. "Sit down."

"Nah." He shook his head, flinching back away the touch. "M'okay, yeah?"

"No you're not." Jack said it gently enough but when he caught Mickey's arm in his hand, the pressure he applied was an order in itself.

Mickey slumped down, back against the low wall.

Jenna's trainers slid noisily as she folded herself down next to him. "Think I'll join you." She put her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

------

The DCI's office was overly warm, like he'd whacked the heating up. Savage watched Mickey, even though it was Jenna who was doing the lion's share of the explaining, with Mickey only taking over to describe what the young man had said before he jumped to his death.

There would be a full enquiry into Josh Bates' suicide, but MIT had already secured the CCTV footage and it provided a clear cut image of the man deciding to jump. No-one would fault Mickey.

Except perhaps Mickey himself.

"I want you to take a weeks leave." Savage told them when they were finished.

Mickey's mouth opened to protest. He didn't want coddling. It wasn't his first jumper and probably wouldn't be his last. The last thing he felt like doing was staring at his own walls for hours on end.

"Both of you." Savage said, levelling the ground. But Mickey still felt singled out.

Jenna thanked him and Mickey remembered she had a kid. Time off at Christmas was probably something to celebrate for her.

"I'd ravver keep at it, guv."

"You'd be desk bound until the DPS have finished investigating." Savage smiled, "I'm sure the paperwork can wait."

But there was hard edge in his eyes that warned against further argument.

Mickey nodded. "Sir."

----

The Old Willow pub was fairly quiet. Mickey sat with Jenna and Jack. He had wanted to go straight home and get into the shower and then into a bottle of scotch, but Jenna had insisted he needed a drink and he wasn't about to tell her, or Jack, that he'd had the same thing in mind, only alone and in much more mind-numbing quantities. Scott got a round in before retreating to the next table with Vivian Friend and Tanya Briggs.

Jenna and Jack made small talk. Jack obviously liked her and at another time, it might have interested him to watch their interaction.

Mickey got the next round and wasn't surprised that Jack followed him to the bar under the pretence of helping him carry the drinks.

"Are you all right?" Jack asked when the barman had moved to the other end to the bar to begin pulling pints.

"I'm fine, guv." The old term slipped out, but somehow it felt like he was putting a professional distance between them.

Or maybe he was.

Jack couldn't hide the worry in his eyes. "It wasn't your fault."

Mickey's head snapped around. "I ain't sayin' it woz!" He said angrily. "And I weren't finking it either."

Should he blame himself? The thought made him even angrier.

Was Jack saying he should? What right did he have to judge Mickey when he'd been sneaking around, poking his nose into Mickey's life?

Could he have done better?

Mickey knew something of the pain Josh felt, understood it, shouldn't that have been enough? Didn't that mean he, if anyone, could have talked Josh down? That they could have had this big discussion and it would have been cathartic and Josh would have hugged him, crying and safe in Mickey's arms, and they both could have gone on with their lives, happy and healed?

Yeah right.

And pigs'll fly.

Mickey looked away, bitterly. God, did he even care?

Beyond the anger, beyond all the pain and hurt of his rape, _did he care anymore?_

He didn't know. Because all he could feel was the _hurt_. And Josh's words came back to him.

"Bleeding inside…" He murmured. And that's all he had left – that wound, that pain.

Jack frowned. "What?"

"Nuffin'…"

"Mickey?"

But he grabbed the drinks and went back to the table. He had some basic first aid to do.

If something bleeds, pour alcohol on it…

Sterilise the wound.

------

Some hours later, when Vivian and Tanya had called it a night and snagged what seemed to be the last taxi home, Jenna stood shivering on the curb outside the pub, waiting for her sister to come pick her up. Mickey's jacket was draped around her shoulders, but as she was considerably chunkier than the young man, she wasn't able make the edges meet to keep out the cold. Mickey was at her side, arms crossed to keep warm, gallantly waiting with her.

Although Jenna suspected that it wasn't chivalry – more like, he was avoiding Jack.

DCI Meadows was still back in the pub, obviously hanging on for the chance to speak to Mickey alone. She'd noticed that Jack had purposely kept his alcohol intake down and guessed he was hoping to drive Mickey home.

Jenna didn't know what the deal was between them, but it was obviously more than just an old manager reluctant to let go of a good colleague.

"Seems like a nice bloke." She finally said.

"Hm?"

"DCI Meadows."

"Yeah."

"You related?"

"Wot? Nah." And he chuckled.

"So, you're what? The son he never had?"

Another chuckle, only this time it little forced. "Shut up!"

A car pulled up. The girl behind the wheel gave a grin. She was younger than Jenna, about 25, and her hair was several shades darker, although still alarmingly red. Effortlessly pretty, where Jenna had to work at it.

Jenna got in the car. "Thanks, Nat."

The girl smiled at Mickey. "Your mate need a lift too?"

There was something in her smile that Mickey recognised, something that twisted his insides with discomfort.

Interest.

He thought of Jack, waiting to talk.

He thought of the bottle of scotch at his house.

"Yeah," he said, and got in the back. "'Fanks."

------

Jenna was dropped home first, because it was closer, Natalie said. And maybe it was. But that wasn't the reason - the look in her eyes told him different. There was something in there that he needed, that drew him on even as his mind screamed at him to stop.

She tasted of nothing, smelt faintly of nothing.

But nothing was good, better than the noise in his head.

That bottle of scotch ended up shared.

So was his bed.

------

**7th December 2003**

The bar was crowded, full of noise. The sound echoed through the thin toilet wall. In here, the haze and smell of cigarette smoke wasn't so bad. At least it covered up the rancid odour of the public loos.

The girl was stick thin, blonder even than him. Natural too, he'd found out. Mickey could smell the alcohol on her breath as she gasped, moving against him.

He hated this. It was dirty.

Dirty, dirty, dirty…

But he couldn't stop.

In the morning, he wouldn't remember her name, wouldn't remember her face, just that he fucked her. And he'd hated it.

-----

**8th December 2003**

Another night, another smoky bar, another girl… This time they made it to her flat.

It didn't make it feel any less dirty.

Afterwards, while she slept, he sat up in her bed and caught his reflection in the mirror of her dresser. He stared at the rail thin stranger that he barely recognised as himself. When had his hair got so long? When had he last had it cut? August? Just before his mum was killed.

The girl twisted in her sleep and he glanced over at her. She was bony and heavily made up – the kind of tarty trash he'd never look twice at.

He didn't understand why he was doing this.

Why he got drunk…that he could understand…but this… What he ended up doing when he was drunk…

He didn't want these girls – didn't even like them, not really.

He hated the sex – there was physical pleasure, but no enjoyment. It made him feel worse inside, and yet even knowing that… He still did it.

Mickey reached for his clothes.

It wasn't going to happen again.

------

**10th December 2003**

The girl rolled off him, breathing heavily. She pulled the duvet around her as she moved, turning her back to him. Mickey shivered, bereft of both her warmth and the covers.

The cold kept him awake, or maybe it was her scent, clinging to his skin, cheap and nasty.

After a while, he got up and went to the bathroom to wash his face in the tiny sink. There was no towel that he could see, so he let the water dribble down. It didn't make him feel clean.

He sat back, drunkenly missing the edge of the bath to land on his backside on the hard tiles.

He pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them.

He'd tried so hard not to do this – didn't want to get drunk, get laid, get dirty…

But he couldn't stop it.

A sob broke from his chest.

------

**12th December 2003**

_Beep._

"_Mickey, it's Jack. I've been trying to get hold of you, but your mobile's unavailable. I was hoping we could get together for a drink. Call me."_

_Beep._

"_Hi, Mickey, this is Charlotte. You've missed 6 appointments now. You need to call me so we can reschedule… Mickey, I know you're finding the sessions hard, but please don't give up on them. It's important. Please call me back."_

_Beep._

"_MESSAGES DELETED."_

----

**16th December 2003**

He was sat back at his desk in MIT, back where he belonged, back working. His head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, making the words on the witness statement in front of him blur.

Jenna clunked a glass down beside his hand as she walked past. The water inside was cloudy and fizzing.

He looked up and offered her a smile.

She gave him a cheeky grin. "Least you had fun."

Only he hadn't, had he?

-----

**18th December 2003**

Another night. Another bar. Another girl, not so faceless this time, although he could hardly claim to know her. Natalie, Jenna's sister, had found him the bar. Said she was waiting for a friend who hadn't turned up. Something nasty inside him doubted that. He knew she'd been waiting for him. Hoping…

In the morning, the fizzing glass of Alka-Seltzer clunked down as always. But guilt kept him from meeting Jenna's eyes.

**-----**

**21st December 2003**

Another night. Another girl. Another glass.

But this time, when he looked up at Jenna with thanks, he didn't see the smile in her eyes. There was worry.

-----

**22nd December 2003**

Another night. Another girl - an Asian girl, tiny boned, fragile…

…Almost as fragile as the look in Natalie's eyes when she saw them disappearing into the toilets together.

Maybe he should have gone after her. Apologised.

Certainly he shouldn't have just looked away and let the Asian girl pull him into a cubicle. And then roughly into her.

Should've had a condom on.

So many things he should have done.

Should have run after Natalie.

Should never have slept with her.

Or this girl.

Should never have gone after Delaney.

But he did. All of those things and more.

His choice.

So he didn't have anyone else to blame.

And he hated himself for it.

-----

**23rd December 2003**

Mickey was still wearing yesterday's clothes when he arrived for work. He could smell the faint scent of the Asian girl clinging to the fabric and it made his head hurt even more. He wished he'd had time to shower.

Jenna was waiting for him in the car park. He had barely got out of the car before he laid into him.

"You are a fucking arsehole!"

His mind was still muddied by the drink he'd had the night before and her outburst confused him. "Wot?"

"Natalie." Her voice was like ice.

"Oh," slipped out softly.

That made her angrier and she opened her mouth to hurl more abuse. He beat her to it.

"Look, I'm sorry, all right." Only he wasn't. Not really.

"I'm not the one you should be apologising too!"

"I know."

"Natalie really liked you! When she told me, I thought at last she'd found someone decent for a change, but you've just another tosser!"

"I didn't mean to 'urt her." Why did that feel like a lie?

"You humiliated her!" She snapped. "You didn't even call her! Didn't have the guts to say 'thanks, but no thanks.' Just let her see-"

"I been busy."

"Mick I work with you. You're not that busy."

Ashamed, he didn't meet her eyes. "I'm-I'm sorry." He stumbled over the words. "I'm sorry, OK?"

She turned away, and let out a deep sigh of frustration. Then she rounded on him again.

"What is going on with you?" She demanded. "Viv thinks you're reacting to the Bates suicide but Leslie's just laying bets on your being a wanker."

Mickey didn't say anything.

"I'm guessing wanker then. Because your being an arsehole isn't exactly a new thing. This is just a new level of crap from you. You know, you're not exactly Mr Popular around here."

He did know.

Didn't much care.

"The DCI gives you all the best cases, God knows why, because you don't exactly make an effort to be part of Team. Jack Meadows obviously thinks you're this great copper, well right now all I see is an idiot who doesn't give a shit about himself or anyone else!"

Her rage washed over him, never penetrating.

"From the day you started, you've moped around here like the fucking world's come to an end." She raged.

He felt a flash of anger. "Yeah, well maybe it 'as!"

"Take a look around, Mick. The world's still here." She waved her hand around. "So your mum's dead, and you fucked up with that kid, well so the fuck what? If you weren't so up yourself, you'd notice that other people have problems too and it doesn't give them the right to go screwing around."

"You don't know the first fing about what I've been through."

"No and I don't fucking care!" She screamed. "What gives you the right, ay? When did you stop caring?"

He looked down. His words were soft. "When I was raped."

----

They stood in silence.

When his words had sunk in past the anger, she didn't know what he expected her to say. That it made what he'd done to her sister all right?

It all made sense now – the nervousness, the reactions, the dark circles, the haunted look in his eyes...

Oh God…

She wanted to reach out for him, but she didn't.

Because even knowing that, it didn't make it right. And she wasn't ready to let go of the anger just yet.

When the silence stretched out too long, Mickey turned and got in his car, slamming the door shut.

She jumped at the loud noise.

Jenna watched him press his forehead to the steering wheel as he started the car.

Then he sat back, wrenched the wheel round hard, reversed and speed away.

----

Lennon was on the radio. _So this is Christmas…and what have you done?_

Mickey gripped the steering wheel and the song grew fainter under the noise of the engine. He felt the press of the acceleration, felt the wind rush in through the open window, drying the tears on his cheeks.

_And so this is Christmas…for weak and for strong…_

Faster and faster and faster…

He couldn't see the road, his tears blurring his vision.

He heard a car horn blare, felt a warm rush as he was thrown forward in his seat.

Then everything went black.

TBC…


	9. Calm Before the Storm

**Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter. **

**Part Nine – Calm Before the Storm**

The car was a wreck. The front half had buckled on impact, folding around a lamppost, which was now tilting backwards at a sharp angle. The car's windscreen had shattered, but had remained whole and in place. A man was leaning in the side window, obviously trying to help the driver.

Tony Stamp got out of his patrol car. He hated RTA's. This wasn't the way he preferred starting the day.

"Show us TOA…" He heard Reg report into his radio. "…9:42."

Tony hurried over to the car. The man looked up at Tony's approach and stepped away. "He's alive." He told him. There was a shaky, shocked tone to his voice. His hands were covered with the driver's blood.

Tony looked in. There was a young man slumped over the wheel, his blond hair covered in blood. Then Tony saw his face…

"Mickey!"

He looked over his shoulder at Reg, but he was busy interviewing the man.

"Mickey, can you hear me?"

No answer.

Tony checked his airways, which were clear and his pulse, which was worryingly fast. He could hear ambulance sirens approaching and risked another glance up. The ambulance stopped and Tony stepped back to allow the paramedics access.

Tony reached for his radio. "Sierra Oscar from 595. Regarding the RTA on Staymore Road. Can someone inform the DCI? The driver of the car – its Mickey. Mickey Webb."

There was a short pause. "Received, 595."

------

Tony went with him in the ambulance. Mickey looked in bad way, and although he had regained consciousness briefly when the fire service had cut him from the wreckage, he hadn't been lucid. Tony doubted he knew what was happening.

At least Mickey's head had stopped bleeding, but he had lapsed back into unconsciousness or into a drugged sleep, Tony didn't know which. He had heard the paramedic say the Mickey was tachycardic and Tony had a sudden flash of déjà vu.

Tony had been here before, a few months ago, with Rita, Mickey's mum. Holding her hand, reassuring her…

And he remembered how that turned out.

"How's he doing?" Tony asked. He heard the dread in his own voice.

The paramedic frowned. "Do you know him?"

"He's a friend."

"We'll do everything we can," the paramedic told him and went back to work. Tony fell silent.

-----

Smithy caught June in the corridor outside of CAD. "Where's the DCI?" He asked.

"He's in an interview." She told him.

He paused a minute, then made the decision. "Which room?"

-----

Tony walked behind the trolley as the paramedics rushed Mickey into the hospital. One was constantly at the trolley's side, holding up an IV bag. When they reached resus, where Tony knew from long experience that no-one but the hospital staff was allowed to go unless it was absolutely necessary, he stopped and could only watch helplessly as Mickey was wheeled away.

The doors closed.

Tony closed his eyes. He'd lost too many colleagues already.

He didn't think he could bear losing another.

-----

Jack looked up at the knock. Smithy entered.

"For the benefit of the tape," Jack said automatically, "Sergeant Smith has entered the room."

Smithy gave him a piece of folded paper.

Jack opened it and read Smithy's hastily scrawled words.

_Mickey's had an accident. He's in St Hughes_.

Jack immediately got up. He barely heard Phil announcing to the tape that he'd left.

Outside, he fixed Smithy with a tense look. "What happened?"

"RTA. I don't know any more than that."

"Right. I'm going over there now."

-------

"How is he?"

Tony turned as Meadows walked towards him. The DCI looked more than just worried. He looked scared.

"I haven't heard, sir. They took him into resus about an hour ago."

"How bad was it?"

"Bad." He admitted. "But I'm sure he'll be fine. You know Mickey."

Jack wasn't in the mood for platitudes. "Do you know what happened?"

"I don't know the details, I came with the ambulance." He thought he could see gratitude in Jack's eyes. "But it looks like he lost control of the car."

"Was there anyone else involved?"

"Only the owner of a Ford Mondeo. He said he had to serve to avoid Mickey. He stopped and called 999 when he realised Mickey had crashed." Tony explained. "That's all I know. Reg took his statement."

Jack sighed.

There were footsteps behind them. It was Reg.

"Talk of the devil…" Tony said, trying to keep things light. "I was just telling the DCI about your witness."

"Clive Meyer." Reg said.

"What did he say?" Jack asked tersely.

"Well, he claims that Mickey was driving erratically. He assumed he was drunk."

"Mickey wouldn't drink and drive." Jack snapped.

"No, sir. But Mickey's car had strayed into the centre of the road, for whatever reason. Mr Meyer was forced to mount the pavement to avoid a collision. He wasn't sure of the details but he thought Mickey must have swerved at the same time and lost control. When he realised Mickey had crashed, he stopped and called us."

Jack fell silent, obviously thinking.

"How is Mickey, sir?" Reg asked.

"We haven't heard anything." Tony said.

"Well you know what they say," Reg gave a smile; "no news is good news."

Jack whirled. "Do you have anything useful to say, constable?" He snapped.

Reg looked surprised.

"Reg, why don't you get us some coffees?" Tony suggested.

Reg looked briefly at Tony then back at Jack. "Of course."

----

Time passed. Jack's coffee went cold in his hands. He didn't feel like drinking. When a doctor finally arrived with news, it was nearly three o'clock.

"Mr Meadows?"

Jack got up and shook the doctor's hand.

"I'm Dr Alden. My colleague said you'd like word."

"That's right."

"You're Michael's colleague?"

"Mickey," Jack corrected softly. "No, not any more. I'm his friend."

"Michael suffered quite severe abdominal trauma." He explained. "There was a significant amount of internal bleeding and he also sustained a head injury. We're concerned about some tearing to his liver, but we're hopeful that this will repair itself. He's heavily sedated at moment, as we'd like him to remain as still as possible but he's stable and out of danger."

Jack closed his eyes. The crushing weight he'd felt since he'd learned of the accident was suddenly lifted. The rush of relief almost made him giddy.

"He has no other family?"

"He's a brother in Colchester." Jack told him. He had only hazy memories of Jamie Marshall. They'd only met briefly at his and Mickey's mother's funeral. "He's been notified, but I don't think they're close."

"So he wouldn't be able to judge Michael's state of mind at the time of the accident?"

"State of mind?" Jack echoed, confused. "What's Mickey's state of mind got to do with it? He had an accident."

"Mr Meadows, this is a discussion I need to have with Mr Webb's family."

"I doubt Jamie would know anything. I can answer some of those questions."

The doctor paused a moment, obviously reluctant to discuss his patient without his consent.

"Mickey's as close to me as family." Jack told him. He found it easier to say than he'd thought it would be.

The doctor nodded and waved him over to the chairs. They both sat down.

"Michael is very underweight." Dr Alden began. "His BMI has fallen below the healthy range. We ran some tests, and there doesn't appear to be a medical reason for this."

"He's not a big lad, but hardly…"

The doctor cut him off. "We also found diazepam in his system."

"Prescibed." Jack tried not to snap. "It's hardly a class A drug. Look, Mickey's had a few problems recently but-"

"Yes, I've read his notes. I'm familiar with his medical history." The doctor met his eyes. "His recent medical history."

Jack looked down. "Right."

"Which is why I'm concerned that this wasn't an accident."

"Wasn't… Mickey wouldn't do anything stupid!"

"I hope you're right. But I will be requesting the accident reports and if I find anything that suggest that this was a suicide attempt…"

Jack got up, trying to keep a lid on his anger. The doctor was left looking at Jack's back.

"…I will act upon it."

Jack was silent. Then he turned. "Can I see him?

----

Mickey was in a small bay with only one other bed in it, which was empty. There was a constant bleeping, steady and even, marking out the rhythm of Mickey's heart. It was the only sound in the room.

Mickey's face was battered, almost to the point that Jack thought for a heartbeat, that it wasn't Mickey at all. But the hair was his. So was the too-thin arms, one of which was connected to an IV.

Jack sat down. "Mickey?"

He didn't really expect an answer.

-----

Jenna swore under her breath as Mickey's mobile went straight to voicemail for the fourth time. She had already left one message, and decided to leave one more - only this one wasn't going to be so polite.

"Mick, we've got work. I'm sorry. You're sorry. So let's forget everything. Just get your head out of your ars…" She swallowed the rest of the word, suddenly realising it wasn't appropriate. "Look, just get over here, OK!"

She snapped her mobile closed just as Scott came over.

"Jen?" His face was serious. "We just got a call. Mickey's in St Hughes."

------

"How's he doing?"

Jack turned at her voice. Jenna looked awful, like she'd been crying, eyes as red as her hair. He wondered if she and Mickey were more than just colleagues. Mickey hadn't said, but then he hadn't said much of anything to Jack just recently.

"He's stable." Jack told him.

She went over.

Tears welled up. "Damn." She swore softly and turned away.

Jack half smiled. "It's OK."

"No it's not! I shouldn't have let him go off like that."

Jack frowned. "How'd you mean?"

Jenna turned away.

"Look if you know something, you have to tell me. The doctor's already asking questions."

"What questions?"

"How this happened. Why this happened." Jack said angrily. "And some of the conclusions they're drawing are completely ridiculous, so if you know something, you need to tell me now."

Jack watched as she blinked away her tears, as if determined not to let them fall.

"Jenna?" He prompted, none to gently.

"We had an argument." She admitted. "I was angry."

Jack almost smiled at that. It sounded like Mickey.

"I had a right to be angry! Look, your precious Mickey isn't an angel-"

"I'll be the first to admit Mickey's got some faults," Jack cut in, "but he's a good officer."

"Then you don't know him as well as you thought you did." Jenna told him. "He hurt my sister. That's why we were arguing."

"Hurt?" There was something dangerous in Jack's eyes.

"Not like that." She took a breath. "Things didn't work out with them and Mickey didn't let her down gently."

That surprised him. He had no idea that Mickey was seeing anyone.

"I had a go at him. And then Mickey…I guess he was trying to explain. Mickey told me…" She hesitated, "_something_ and I don't…"

"Something!" Jack snapped. "What sort of something?"

Did she know? Had Mickey told her?

"It doesn't matter." She yelled back and Jack got the impression she'd just asked herself the same 'does he know' about him.

"Yes it does!"

"How well do you really know Mickey?"

"Well enough to know the kind of thing I think he told you."

She fell silent.

"So he told you, then what happened?"

"Nothing. I was shocked, OK? I think whatever he was expecting me to say or do, it wasn't what I did. He just got in his car and drove off."

"And you let him?"

"What was I supposed to do? Stand in front of the car?" She snapped back.

"You're a police officer!" He was just venting rage now, letting the anger come out. "You of all people should be able to handle these situations."

"It had nothing to do with that! I wish I had stopped him, OK? Because Mickey's screwed up and I should've known he'd-!" She stopped; bit her lip, trying to calm down. "Look, sir, maybe the doctor's right to be asking questions."

"I refuse to believe that."

Jenna looked down at the young man in the bed. "I hope you're right."

-----

Jack didn't leave the hospital until late, going home to an empty house and a head full of questions. Gina had brought him a copy of the accident report and rather than sit in the cold confines of his office to read it, Jack had taken the file home. He settled on the sofa with a tumbler full of the best malt scotch he owned and opened the report.

It made for grim reading.

Mickey had been driving at, but thankfully not over, the speed limit. There had been no mechanical fault with his car. The road had been straight and there was neither ice nor rain on the surface. There had been no obstruction in the road, or in Mickey's field of vision.

There was, simply, no reason for Mickey, an experienced driver with police training, to have crashed.

Jack finished the bottle.

-----

**24th December 2003**

Jack almost forgot what day it was until Laura phoned him just as he was leaving the house to ask if he was still coming for Christmas Dinner. He spent most of the morning at the hospital, and then returned to Sun Hill. He had made Gina promise not to hand over the accident report to the hospital until he had thoroughly reviewed it. He wanted to speak to Mickey first. The bare facts were hardly conclusive. He wanted to hear Mickey version of events before he made any conclusions.

Jack returned to the hospital after work to find that Mickey was still sedated. He drifted in and out, but never really coming awake.

Jack sat down.

He could wait.

------

Rain beat against the window. Jack watched it trickle down the pane. It was nearly midnight, nearly Christmas Day.

The nurses had long since given up asking him to leave, and the night staff that arrived to take over obviously just assumed he was another anxious father. He didn't bother to correct them. There was something to be said in having a passing resemblance to Mickey. It was easy to mistake him for his son.

Time passed.

Jack glanced at his watch.

Midnight.

He should leave. He went to the bed and didn't stop his hand when he found himself reaching for the blond head on the pillow. Jack's fingers disappeared into the mess of flaxen hair. It had grown out long enough to cover his fingers completely. Jack smiled; his own hair had been this colour once, before he'd gone grey.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered. He lingered a moment and then began to walk away.

At the door, he heard a mumble.

Jack turned back.

Mickey's eyes were open, blinking in the low light.

He looked confused. And there was something else – something missing from Mickey's eyes that Jack had got so used to, he didn't even realise it had been there until it was gone – sorrow. There was no sorrow in his eyes.

"Jack?" His voice was scratchy and pain crossed his face as he tried to move.

Jack was immediately at his side, "you crashed your car."

Mickey's eyes unfocused and Jack watched the young man struggling to remember through the hazy muddle of sedatives. After a moment, the clear blue eyes clouded over again, became weighed down with sorrow. He'd remembered. Everything.

Jack would have done anything to have kept those memories away, for just a moment more.

A tear slipped out of the corner of Mickey's eye.

TBC


	10. Charlotte's Webb

**Thanks once again for the reviews. They make my day and keeps the muse happy.**

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Bleeding Inside**

_By NorthernStar_

**Part Ten – Charlotte's Webb **

**Christmas Day, 2003**

Mickey drifted, half awake, half not. There was dull pain, hardly there but constant, never going away. It wore him down over the hours. Doctor's came and went, asked him questions, poked him and prodded him, until their very touch made him physically sick. The nurse said it was the medication. Mickey knew different.

A young girl brought Christmas Dinner sometime later, gently placing the tray on the little bedside table and arranging it so all he had to do was sit up a little straighter to reach it. She wore a Santa hat and a bright smile and smelled faintly of detergent.

Mickey picked at the meal and stared out of the window.

**Boxing Day, 2003**

The nurses made him get out bed almost as soon as the sun was up. Walking hurt like hell but he forced himself to stay upright. If he stumbled, the male nurse hovering at his side would catch him in his arms and the thought of that was utterly repulsive.

He made it to the shower room, and managed a quick wash under a stream of water that was warm, but not hot, the way Mickey preferred it to be. Being clean made him feel a thousand times better and returning to fresh sheets on the bed was the best Christmas present he could have.

He nibbled at the lunch they brought him at noon, but left most of it. The nurse made it clear she wasn't pleased that he hadn't eaten, and noted it down on his charts.

It was about three in the afternoon when he got his first visitor.

Mickey sat up in his bed, "Jack."

-----

The DCI smiled, "how you doing?"

"Better."

Jack could see there was some truth in that. There was a little colour in Mickey's cheeks and some of the swelling around his eyes had gone down. The bruises were still bright though.

Then he remembered the reason he was here. "I…er…I brought you a present."

Mickey's eyes flickered to the small gift, held out in an attempt to be casual. Then he took it. "Fanks."

Jack watched him open it. He'd asked Laura what she was getting for her nephew, who was about Mickey's age, and got the same. It didn't occur to him until after he'd wrapped it to wonder if Mickey actually had a games machine.

Mickey grinned as he pulled out the _Return of the King_ Playstation game.

"I've kept the receipt. If you don't-"

"Nah, this is great." He said, "'fanks."

There was an awkward silence. Jack remembered those accident reports, but coming out with the question was proving harder than he'd thought.

"So…when do you think they'll let you out of here?"

"The doctor said a coupla days. Just need ta test me liver, make sure it's working prop'ly."

"Good." More awkwardness. "That's good."

Jack sat down in the bedside chair.

"'Ope the test's OK." Mickey said. "I wanna get back to work."

Jack frowned. "Well, after a few weeks, maybe."

"Nah," Mickey shook his head, "as soon as, yeah?"

"You're still recovering, Mickey. You have to give yourself time."

"I've 'ad time." Mickey looked down at his hands. He sounded frustrated. "I can't 'andle sitting looking at me walls all day."

"Well, handle it, because that's what you'll be doing." Jack said firmly.

That got Mickey's back up. "What's it got to do wiv you, ay?" He demanded. "What has it got to do wiv you?"

The sudden anger surprised him. "I'm concerned, Mickey. You're pushing yourself too hard."

"I just like workin' that's all."

"Sounds like you're running away to me." Jack told him. "Hiding yourself behind your job."

Mickey screwed his face up, obviously nonplussed. "Wot?"

"Well you've got to face up to this sometime." Jack tried to keep his voice even, but the fear he felt for Mickey was coming out as anger. "Otherwise next time you won't be so lucky!"

"Next time? What'd'you mean, next time?"

"I've seen the accident reports. The doctor's are right, aren't they? This wasn't an accident."

"'Course it was. What'd'you take me for?"

Jack shook his head. "Nothing wrong with the car, nothing wrong with the road and you just spontaneously crash, is that it?"

"Yeah."

"I don't buy it, Mickey. And neither do the doctors."

"Well it's the truth." His head fell back against the pillow.

"Is it?"

"You don't believe me." There was a worrying lack of disbelief in his voice.

"I want too." Jack told him.

The head came up, "wot are doing 'ere, ay?"

Jack heard the dangerous note in Mickey's voice. He knew this boy, knew the warning signs, but it wasn't in Jack's nature to back down. "I came to see you. Make sure you're all right."

"'Cos of what?" Nor was backing down in Mickey's. "You feel guilty? Well you should, yeah. It's cos of you this 'appened."

Jack frowned, "the crash?"

"No, not the crash. Delaney."

Jack looked down; his own guilt stopping any denial cold before it even reached his lips.

Mickey gave a snort. "You 'ad to fancy Rachel."

That made him angry. "You leave Rachel out of this!"

"Nah, nah I won't." Mickey snapped, sitting forward in his bed. "'Cos you didn't! You woz gagging for it and she knew it. She saw a chance to get off the assault charge and she took it."

"Leave her out of this, Mickey!"

But the young man carried on. "You forgot who you woz an' wot you 'ad to lose." His voice was hard, "and you 'ad a go at me when I reminded ya."

Jack felt a wave of anger. "You treated Rachel like dirt; don't think I've forgotten that!"

"I treated her like I treated any other criminal."

"You assaulted her."

"It wasn't like that."

"It certainly looked like it from where I was standing!"

"I just wanted it her leave you alone."

"It wasn't up to you." Jack's lips curled. "What gave you the right?"

"I'd just buried me muvver, yeah? I weren't finking straight!"

"That's no excuse." He snapped. "You had no business poking your nose into my life!"

"And you 'ad no business screwin' a Tom!"

"You little-!"

"That's right, Jack! Have a go. Like you did then." Mickey raged. "And you got to me, Jack, you know that? You finally got to me. You 'ad me jumping frew 'oops trying ta make it up to you."

Jack got up and couldn't stop his hands from grabbing Mickey. "You've got no right to speak to me like this!"

Mickey stared him right in the face, as if Jack wasn't threatening him. "It's crap like that that sent me after Delaney, yeah! He might 'ave done the hard part, but you were the one 'olding me down!"

"All right, that's enough!" The nurse flew over. "I can hear you down the corridor!"

Jack let go, suddenly aware that there were tears in Mickey's eyes.

And in his own.

The nurse came to stand in front of him. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir." She said to Jack.

"I just need a minute."

She shook her head. "I'll call security."

Jack sighed and nodded.

He didn't look back.

-------

The nurse brought Mickey some diazepam and the calming effect of the drug uncoiled the anger inside him. He hadn't known where all that came from. All that hate and venom, hurled so spitefully and yet…he wasn't sorry. Not really.

In a dull sort of way, he felt better. Maybe.

There was thump as something landed on the floor beside his bed. Mickey opened his eyes to see what it was and saw the familiar black leather rucksack. Then sighed and rolled onto his back. At the end of the bed stood the one person Mickey wanted to see least in the world, Jack included.

Charlotte.

"What d'you want, ay?"

The woman sat down in the chair beside the bed without an invite. "You've asked me that before, Mickey. The answer's still the same – to help you."

"Yeah, well I don't want counselling."

"I'm afraid its no longer just a case of you're saying you don't want come to the sessions anymore." She told him. "Mickey, I'm here because your doctor called me. He thinks you were attempting suicide."

"Well I wasn't, all right?"

"Weren't you?" God he hated her questions! Always questions…

"No."

"What were you thinking when you were driving?"

"Nuffing, I was finkin' of nuffing."

"OK, what were you _feeling_?"

He sighed, loudly. "Nuffing."

"Just you and your motor." She said evenly.

He hated it when she did that. Even when he was determined to stonewall her, she always made it seem like he given something away.

"Still, if you're fully comp, you'll get a shiny new one to drive 'til you get your one sorted."

"They ain't gonna sort it." He snorted. "Fire crew 'ad to cut the top off ta get me out."

"Not necessarily. Ever fancied a convertible?"

He laughed.

"You remember them cutting you free, then?"

"Yeah, just about."

"And the accident?"

In a way, he guessed that that could be his get out clause – saying he didn't remember the accident. But the word that came out was, "yeah."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No." He paused a long moment. "But I fink I 'ave too."

"At some point, yes. Even if it's only to your colleagues in the police." She leant forward a little. "I'd rather you talked to me."

"I've tried it, yeah? Doesn't work."

"Mickey, counselling isn't a quick fix. It's a long process and while there's a little bit of teamwork on the part of the counsellor, it's mostly your hard work that gets you there. _You_ are worth the effort."

He was silent a long time. "Angry," he finally admitted so very softly, "in the car, I was angry."

Charlotte smiled and he could read the "_well done"_ on her face.

------

They talked for a long while, and he could tell that Charlotte was relieved to realise he hadn't meant to crash. But from the slight frown she couldn't hide, he guessed that erratic careless driving and a complete indifference to crashing was probably almost as bad as suicidal intentions.

Yet another Christmas Dinner arrived after a while, on account, the girl in the Santa hat playfully told him, of it being Boxing Day, as if that were an excuse to provide the same thing to eat two days running. When he complained she pointed out that he should have filled in his card if he'd wanted the choice. Since he hadn't, he had to take pot luck, and that was a seasonal roast.

Mickey picked at the food. Charlotte watched him, interested. She was now perched on the edge of his bed. She had pulled out her note pad from her ever present rucksack at some point and was now doodling between the coils of the binding. "Are you hungry?" She asked casually.

He'd come to learn that nothing she said was casual. "Nah."

"I've heard your stomach rumbling a few times while we've been sitting here." It wasn't said accusingly, just as a statement of fact.

"So?"

"So it's obvious you're hungry." She leant forward. "You know, for hospital food, it doesn't look bad."

He pushed it over. "You can have it."

She pushed it back. "The doctors aren't only concerned with why you crashed. They're concerned about your weight." She frowned. "And I'm concerned too."

He chucked the fork down. "What's it to you, ay?" He demanded. "So I'm 'ungry and I'm not eating. I 'ate Christmas Dinner, all right?"

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

"I sure I can find you something from the canteen. Sandwiches?"

"I don't want anyfing."

His stomach growled. Mickey's head moved, but he didn't look at her.

"Mickey…?" She asked gently. "Are you hungry?"

He snorted. "A little."

"But you don't want to eat?"

"Nah…"

"Why do you think that is?"

He hated those coaxing questions, so gently put. It made it so hard not to answer her. She'd have made a great copper. "I didn't feel like it, well, after, you know. And then when I did, I didn't want too."

"Why didn't you want too?"

"I dunno." He looked out the window. "Eating didn't feel right." He admitted.

"Did _not_ eating feel right?"

"Yeah, sort of." He shrugged. "I dunno."

"Do you think feeling right makes you feel better?"

He twisted his fingers. "A bit, yeah."

"Even though being hungry kind of hurts?"

"Yeah."

"Does going hungry make you feel better, Mickey?"

He looked up. It was a long time before he answered. "Yeah."

"Why do you think that is?"

He didn't answer.

"Why do you think hurting makes you feel better?"

"I dunno."

"How about before, other times, when did it feel right again because of hurt?"

"Ovver times?"

"Growing up, at school, whenever."

Mickey lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Punished." He finally admitted quietly.

"When you were punished?"

He nodded.

"Because you did something wrong?"

Another nod.

"Do you think you should be punished now?"

He opened his eyes and sat up. "You fink I ain't eating to punish myself for what 'appened?"

"No." She answered evenly. "I'm asking you questions. Do you think that?"

He was silent for a long while.

Charlotte picked up the fork. "You haven't done anything that needs to be punished." She told him and held out the fork. "No-one has the right to make you hurt, Mickey. Not even yourself."

Mickey stared at the fork.

"You don't want to take it, do you?"

He looked away.

"That's about control, Mickey. When you don't feel you have control of your life, you start controlling the things you can. Like whether you eat or not. Only it's a false control and pretty soon you can't control that either." She wiggled the fork. "You can make the choice."

He took the fork.

"Trust me, OK?"

And for the first time in a long time, Mickey ate a proper meal.

-----

Jack sat outside the hospital. He didn't understand how that could have happened, where it had suddenly gone so wrong. He didn't want to leave without sorting this out, so he stayed.

Finally, the cold drove him back inside and his feet took him to the ward without his really thinking about it. He didn't have a clue what he was going to say. But the moment he got there, he realised it had been a useless effort.

There was a woman at Mickey's bedside, and he knew he shouldn't intrude.

He went down to the cafeteria and got a coffee, which tasted worse than the muck that came out of the machine at Sun Hill. After about an hour, he decided to try again. The woman was still there and this time the nurse saw him and shushed him off, obviously afraid of another slanging match on her shift.

Jack wandered back downstairs and returned to the cafeteria for a sandwich. It was even more unappetising than the coffee, but he was hungry and finished it.

When he got up to go, he saw flash of black leather in the corner of his eye and turned. And there was the woman from Mickey's bedside, standing at the counter, deciding what to buy.

Jack went over to her. "I'd avoid the sandwiches." He told her. "Unless you like cardboard."

The woman turned. She had caramel coloured hair, cut just below her shoulders, and a pleasant young face. "Thanks for the tip." She said and grabbed a Lion bar. Jack watched her pay for it and then grabbed one for himself.

While he'd handed over the money, she sat down at one of the tables. He followed her and pointed to the opposite chair.

"Do you mind?"

The woman gave a glance around. There were plenty of empty tables and chairs, but politeness kept her from refusing. "Of course."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude." Jack said as he sat down.

"That's OK. I guess I owe you one, for saving me from the Sandwiches From Hell."

"I have an ulterior motive actually."

The smile faltered.

"Do you know Mickey Webb?"

She looked confused.

"Jack Meadows." He said and held out his hand. There was flicker in her expression, quickly and skilfully hidden, that practically screamed '_You're Jack!'_ He almost missed it, but he wouldn't be the copper he was if he had.

"I'm Charlotte." She shook his hand. "I'm a friend."

The name rung a bell and Jack frowned, trying to remember. Then the penny dropped. "You're Mickey's counsellor."

She gave him a wide smile. "That's right."

"How is he?"

"You know I can't discuss Mickey with you." She told him.

Jack wondered if counsellors were as flexible with that rule as most coppers were. "We had a bit of trouble earlier on." He told her. "I just want to know if he's all right."

She paused a minute and obviously decided that generalisation was the way to go.

"Mr Meadows, rape isn't just a crime against the body; it's also against the soul. The majority of victims do find a method of coping. The important thing is that it's a healthy coping mechanism."

"Are you saying that Mickey's found a way that isn't?"

"You know I can't answer that." She told him. "But I think you already know that Mickey is a strong young man."

"I just want to help him."

"Then back off. Mickey needs to find his own way. He doesn't need to worry about your feelings as well as his own. If you like, I can give you the number of a colleague of mine. She's very good. You can talk things over with her."

"I don't need counselling."

"It's possible you do. Rape isn't just about the victim. It affects the people who love them as well."

Jack didn't reply, uncomfortable with her words.

"It'll help." She promised, reaching into her rucksack and pulling out a card. "Both you and Mickey."

She got up, obviously ill at ease with his company now she knew who he was.

"It was nice to meet you."

----

Jack stared at the card Charlotte had left on the table. Gillian Borrows, Dip Couns, BACP, LCSP.

Back off? Could he do that? Should he?

Wasn't Mickey his responsibility?

Jack shivered in the chill air.

-----

**27th December, 2003**

Jack had a sleepless night, his mind going over and over the argument. He got up, resolved to apologise, not just for the argument, but for his insensitivity when Mickey's mother passed away, for all the blazing rows they'd had over Rachel and for blaming him so hard for Delaney's escape and the revenge attack on Rachel.

And, Jack thought humourlessly, after all that, he might just have breath enough to apologise for living too.

When he arrived at the hospital, he recognised the tall dark haired man standing at reception. The man was obviously waiting for the staff to notice him.

"Jaime Marshall?"

Mickey's older brother turned. He looked questioningly at Jack. Jaime had Mickey's mouth, but little else. There was a good 6 or 7 years between them. Mickey had once said he'd taken after his mother, Jamie must have taken after their father.

"I'm Jack Meadows. We met at your mother's funeral."

They shook hands, although it was obvious Jaime didn't remember him at all.

"I'm Mickey's DCI. Or I was."

That got his attention. "You know where he is?"

"He's on the Riven ward. It's upstairs. I was just going up myself."

Jack showed him up to the ward. In the lift, he had tried to make conversation, but Jamie didn't really make any replies. Jack could read enough of Mickey on Jaime's face to know that this was the way the Webb's, and the Marshall's, dealt with worry.

At the ward, Jack had to bite down on his own desire to set things straight and held back, letting Jaime go the rest of the way alone. Jack stayed at the end of the bay, where he could see Mickey, but unless Mickey actually turned and looked, he wouldn't see Jack.

Jaime approached the bed. "What have you done, eh?" Jack heard him ask.

He watched as Mickey looked around; saw the small, tired grin that spread across his face when he saw his brother.

Jaime sat on the bed. Then he reached out and hooked his hand behind Mickey's neck.

Mickey allowed himself to be folded into his brother's arms.

Then Jack heard sobbing, real sobs, hard sobs.

_Back off_, Charlotte had told him.

Jack turned away. He guessed he had to now.

----

TBC…

(...almost three and a half thousand words. Someone pass me some of Mickey's Valium?)


	11. The Sound of Thunder

Thanks for all the reviews so far. Please keep them coming, as they do help keep me going!

**Part Eleven – **

**The Sound of Thunder **

Jaime was embarrassed, awkward, patting his back stiffly. That fact finally dawned on Mickey and he forced himself to pull back.

"Sorry," he apologised, sniffing back the last of his tears and not really meeting his brother's eyes.

"Don't worry about it." Jaime said, but Mickey could see the relief written on his face.

Now he felt a new blend of shame settle in his chest. He wished he could take those last few minutes back, but they were no more retrievable than any others.

"I miss mum too." Jaime said.

Mickey lay back in bed. His grief for his mother always seemed so lost in all the other feelings. He should tell him the truth. Even though they weren't close, as his brother, Jaime deserved the truth.

"You look like crap." Jaime told him.

"'Fanks."

Jaime laughed, although it sounded forced.

Mickey closed his eyes. The truth could wait.

Forever, if need be.

----

**30th December 2003**

Jack watched Jaime put the key in the lock. He could sense that Mickey's brother wasn't happy with his presence but didn't have the luxury of refusing. Jaime's one brief visit several months ago to Mickey's home hadn't been enough for him to find his way again, too wrapped up in his grief for his mother at the time to take notice.

The door opened into chaos, dirty plates and cups were strewn on every surface, letters and newspaper dumped where they fell.

"Mickey always was messy," Jaime said, with a touch of humour.

Jack surveyed the disorder but he felt no amusement. He could read the state of Mickey's mind in the mess.

They went up to the bedroom, and Jack felt a passing worry about the book he'd seen before, but when he followed Jaime inside, he saw it was face down and the blurb on the back was unlikely to draw Jaime's interest.

Jaime had brought one of his own bags with him, and he placed it on the unmade bed, opened it and began filling it with whatever he could pull from Mickey's wardrobe. Mickey wore suits these days, now he was a high-flyer in MIT so there were enough jeans and T's still clean for Jaime to pack.

Jack went to the bathroom and grabbed Mickey's toiletries. He'd never seen anyone with so many different kinds of shower gel, not even his daughter, who could shop for Britain. Jack packed what he thought Mickey would need and took them in to Jaime, who shoved them in the side pockets of the bag.

A flash of green caught Jack's eye. He knelt and picked up the fleece Mickey had worn on many occasions. His fingers slid over the soft fabric and he remembered how it had felt, pressed against him, that terrible day in the graveyard.

Jaime yanked it carelessly from his hands, hastily folded it and jammed it into the bag.

Finally, Mickey's brother zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He left the room. Jack hovered a moment. Then followed.

------

"I wish you'd reconsider." Charlotte said. She was perched on the edge of Mickey's hospital bed, watching him lace up his trainers.

Mickey shook his head. "I make the choices, yeah?" He quoted her own words, said long ago during their first session, when she'd laid out the basis of how she would help him. "I'm in control."

"I'm concerned that this isn't so much a choice about your healing, as an opportunity to run away."

Mickey looked up. "I ain't runnin'."

"We need to talk."

"We 'ave been."

"I mean in sessions. We need to look at your actions these last few weeks. I can help you understand them, and I can't do that if you're in Colchester." She said. "If we don't address these issues, you might become reliant on them as a way of coping."

"I'm eating again." He told her and gestured at the hospital tray, with its mostly eaten meal.

"I think that's only one of things we need to talk about." She caught his eye, something he usually avoided. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Jack and Jaime chose that moment to arrive and he could see the frustration that leapt into Charlotte's eyes.

Mickey stood up, the clothes he'd been lent by his brother's clothes bagging down.

"I'm going." He told her.

-----

The drive to Colchester was longer than Mickey remembered, but then he hadn't taken the journey as a passenger before. He wished he could have driven himself, but the doctor had expressed concern at the length of the journey and while Mickey would have happily ignored him, Jaime hadn't been so blasé and had insisted Mickey leave his own car at home and let Jaime drive him.

Watching the endless motorway whiz by without any distraction other than his brother's inane chatter about his wife and kids was torture. His own thoughts intruded, about Delaney; about the endless changes to his life these last few months, the changes to himself…

He thought of all the people who knew and looked at him differently…and he couldn't blame them, because he _was_ different. He thought of himself as different, cut off from all the other people, the real people, the normal people.

And then about those brief moments when he could pretend, even to himself that he was just like everyone else – usually when he drunk, screwing some faceless girl…

His stomach lurched sickly at the thought.

"Pull over!"

"What?"

"Pull over!"

Jaime swung the car onto the hard shoulder and braked. Mickey fumbled with the door release and stumbled out, folding onto his knees a few steps from the car. He wasn't sick, but his stomach churned like he would be any minute.

Jaime came over. "Sorry. Guess we shouldn'ta pushed it." He knelt down. "We'll stop at the next services." He put his hand on his brother's shoulder, jumping a little himself when Mickey flinched almost violently away.

Mickey bit his lip, angry at himself. This was his brother, for God's sake!

Jaime just frowned and gave him space, sitting down on the grass verge.

When his stomach stopped churning, Mickey turned to sit on his backside too, resting his hands on his bent knees. He closed his eyes.

"I knew you shoulda come back wiv me after mum died." Jaime told him.

Mickey shot him a look, as the idea burst into life in his head. If he had gone to Colchester back then, maybe this wouldn't have happened. He would have been far away when Rachel first asked Jack for help with 'Eddie McGovern.'

And even if had had been come back to work then, he certainly wouldn't have been around when things became personal between Jack and Rachel. Mickey wouldn't have had the chance to get angry, get on the wrong side of Jack…and become so desperate to make it up to the man he respected that he take so big a risk catching Delaney.

It wouldn't have happened… And Mickey would be happy and normal and yet…just as that realisation hit, another took its place. Maybe Jack would have sent Phil in Mickey's place…or even gone himself.

Mickey's mind quickly threw up the image of Jack on that table, strapped down, crying, as Delaney prepared to…

Mickey slapped his hands to his face, forcing the thought away. He dug his fingers into his flesh until his bruises hurt.

Insane. He was going insane. He had to be.

Jaime went to lay an arm around his shoulders. Mickey twisted away, avoiding him.

"Le's go, ay?" Mickey said, getting up.

Jaime got up, confusion clear in his eyes, and followed him back to the car.

-------

They arrived in Colchester at six. Jaime made sure they had ample stops along the way, which slowed their progress, but the breaks at least gave Mickey some time away from his brother.

Jaime's wife, Ruby, had dinner ready when they got there. She was a very pretty woman and seemed nice, but Mickey really knew very little about her, despite the fact she'd been married to Jaime for years. Their eldest daughter, Jessica, was 9 and the image of her mother. Emily was 7 and didn't really look like either of them. Noah was 20 months and with his blond hair and blue eyes he reminded Mickey strongly of his mother. Ruby had commented at the funeral that Noah 'took after uncle Mickey' in looks, but that seemed to Mickey to be tarring the kid with the kind of brush he could well do without and besides, he couldn't see it.

The meal was pleasant enough, and Mickey forced himself to eat it out of politeness. They made small talk, which was even harder work than eating. He felt shattered and couldn't wait for the moment when he could shut the door of Emily's lilac bedroom, which she had vacated for her uncle, and just collapse into bed. But as it turned out, Jaime decided they should head to the local pub and toast their mother's memory.

Mickey didn't remember finally getting to bed, but at least he woke up alone.

------

Mickey didn't remember seeing in 2004. He had long since passed out in a drunken stupor before the clock struck 12. Jaime told him it was a good night, and since any night Mickey didn't wake up shaking, terrified, was a good night, he tried to believe him.

-----------

**2nd January 2004**

They went out the next night as well, for a bit of "the hair of the dog" as his brother put it. Jaime was well known in all of Colchester's pubs; something which Mickey felt a passing concern about. Jaime always was his father's son.

He woke in Emily's room. His head ached, like it was stuffed with wool. He had some tramadol in his bag, which they'd given him at the hospital. He swallowed two of those down dry and collapsed back into bed. He stayed there until noon, staring at the ceiling, which had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to it. Ruby brought him a cup of tea around ten, which went cold, untouched.

He was finally forced to get up when Emily came in with a game. They played for a while and the effort he put into being cheerful for her helped.

-----

**3rd January 2004**

"_Charlotte_ _tells me you're concerned about a young man she's counselling."_

"_Mickey. He was raped."_

"_Tell me about him."_

"_Well, he's…he's 28. I've known him for years. We work well together."_

"_How would you describe your relationship?"_

"_How do you mean?"_

_"Purely professional?_ _Mostly professional? Close? Distant?"_

"_Close._ _I think Mickey looks on me as…as a father figure."_

"_How do you look on him?"_

"_I'm his supervisor."_

"_That's just a job title. How do you view him in relation to yourself?"_

"_Look, Ms Burrows-"_

"_Call me Jill."_

"_Jill. I don't see what relevance that has."_

"_How you look on this young man determines how you react to what has happened to him. So, how do you feel at him?"_

"…"

"_Jack?"_

"_The truth is…I don't know."_

"_We can work on that too."_

------

Jaime knocked back a whiskey chaser and grinned at his brother. They'd never really partied much in the past. Mickey had left for Hendon not long after his 18th birthday and Jaime had had his own friends and his own life by the time Mickey reached his teens. Oddly he hadn't really missed not having a close relationship with his brother. Not really.

But this was good.

Mickey could cope with this.

He knocked back his own chaser, relishing the burn of the alcohol when he swallowed.

-----

**4th January 2004**

The house was almost empty when Mickey woke. Only Ruby was home. He found her in the kitchen, sipping tea before she started on the dishes. Jaime had taken the kids to the cinema and Noah was at Ruby's mothers.

She had saved him some lunch and warmed it over in the microwave. As he ate, they talked. It was nice to be around someone who didn't know him, didn't judge him either as a person or as a copper.

He helped her with the washing up when he'd eaten and found she had quite a wicked sense of humour. He could understand why his brother had fallen in love with her.

When they finished, she made them both tea and they sat at the kitchen table, dunking chocolate biscuits and talking about unimportant things. He could sense she wanted to talk about Jaime, probably about his drinking; something his copper's instinct was telling him. But he didn't want to bring pain into this moment. He had enough of his own.

Mickey stayed in that night, when Jaime went to the pub, claiming his head hurt enough already without drinking on top. And while that was true, it wasn't the reason. Mickey had seen the hurt in Ruby's eyes when her husband had said they were going out. Again.

He and Ruby watched a film instead and he didn't think about much at all. It felt good.

----

**5th January 2004**

_He was in the warehouse. He could hear Delaney's voice in the distance…hear the words he spoke. He wasn't afraid. It wasn't him, this time. _

_The words were coming closer, louder, and then he could see._

_Delaney was circling the table but it wasn't himself that was tied face down._

_The crying was childish, high pitched._

_Delaney was raping Emily._

_Mickey tried to run to her, to pull Delaney off but his legs wouldn't work, wouldn't go fast enough…_

"Mickey?"

He jolted awake, shivering. He turned towards the voice. Ruby stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the bright light on the landing.

She came in the room. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah…yeah…" But his breathing gave him away.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

She came into the room. He tried to avoid her eyes, but she came up too close to elude her. She was frowning.

He forced himself not to shrink away when she reached out and touched his forehead. "You're burning up."

Mickey waved her hand away. "M'fine."

"I get you some paracetamol." She told him. "You've probably caught Noah's cold."

She left the room and returned a few minutes later with a glass of water and a foil full of tablets. She handed them over.

He took them, not looking up into her face. "'Fanks."

She smiled and left the room.

----

**6th January 2004**

Mickey took the kids to school that morning, then wandered the streets. He got out his mobile a dozen times to call Charlotte, but he put it back ever time.

Why couldn't he get past this?

When would it stop hurting?

----

It stopped hurting about one in the morning, when the girl he'd met pushed him down on her bed and straddled him. She leaned over him, breathing heavy, to look in his eyes.

Mickey screwed his eyes shut, grabbed her and flipped her over. She giggled then moaned softly.

And Mickey gave up thinking.

-----

**7th January 2004**

Jaime was still up when Mickey let himself back into his brother's house in the early hours. He gave Mickey a filthy grin and clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations. Mickey felt shame crawl through him and avoided his eyes.

Jaime held out a beer.

"Nah. I'm knackered."

Jaime gave a dirty laugh. "Yeah, I'll bet."

Mickey felt sick. He went upstairs, desperate to wash the slut off his skin before he soiled Emily's bed with it.

At the top of the stairs, he saw Ruby, hovering in her bedroom door, obviously waiting for her husband to come to bed.

He forced out a smile.

She didn't smile back.

----

**8th January 2004**

Mickey had all but forgotten it was his birthday, and would have preferred to have the day just ease past without anyone noticing. But Ruby remembered (confirming to Mickey that the card his brother sent him every year was, indeed, written by his wife.)

The kids were excited, making him cards, planning his cake, chattering away with such excitement. It helped.

Jaime got him a DVD for his birthday, then took him to the pub as soon as it was opening time, and refused to let him buy any of the drinks. Mickey tried to decline, knowing he couldn't afford it. Ruby had said they were struggling and Mickey had heard it for what it was – a plea for him to get his brother to stop drinking.

Mickey didn't tell her that he'd learned, the hard way, that the only way a drunk stops drinking, is when _they_ want too.

Jaime made a bad drunk, turning ever more surly and unpleasant the more alcohol he consumed. The girls in the pub were avoiding him, but the one behind the counter wasn't so fortunate, since it was her job to serve him.

Mickey tried to pull Jaime away, but his brother simply slung an arm around Mickey's shoulders and held firm.

"'s my bruvver." Jaime slurred at the barmaid. "'s birthday."

"C'mon." Mickey tugged at his brother's arm, "Leave it, yeah?"

"You should give 'im a pressie," Jaime leered. "He likes 'em with…" And he pantomimed big breasts with his hands.

"Jaime."

"You should get 'im a beer. On the 'ouse." Jaime chuckled. "You could give 'im something else on the 'ouse too." Jaime lurched forward and grabbed the barmaid. "Give me one too."

She yelped, more in surprise than fright, but it was enough to get the owner over.

"Oy!" The landlord was well built. "You've had enough, mate. Out."

Mickey pulled at Jaime. "C'mon."

"You throwing us out?" Jaime raged. "It's my bruvvers birthday!"

"Happy birthday. Now out!"

"Come on." Mickey pulled again.

"Nah…nah, this is a party," his brother said. "Your party." He looked at the landlord. "So we ain't going."

The landlord grabbed Jaime and twisted his arm back. Jaime cried out in pain.

Mickey intervened. "Get off 'im!"

Jaime twisted and threw a punch. The owner went sprawling. Mickey heard the barmaid yell and then felt himself being hauled off Jaime. He struck back, at who he didn't know. Nor care. He felt only the rush of rage as everything he'd bottled up these last few weeks came spilling out, and it didn't matter who he hit or why. He just let it come, not even really registering the fight until it was over and he and Jaime were thrown, literally, from the pub.

Finally he felt the concrete under his knees and heard the rush of traffic from the road. His nose was filled with blood, dribbling down the back of his throat. He was a mess.

But the only thing he felt for the last few minutes was physical pain. Nothing else.

He started laughing.

Jaime clapped him on the shoulder and laughed with him.

-----

Ruby ignored her husband when they got back, leaving him to tend to his own wounds. Jaime stomped up to the bathroom alone after shooting her a vile look.

She turned her attention to Mickey instead, gently brushing back the blond hair that was sticking to the bloody scraps on his face.

"I'll get you some ice." She said, and disappeared for a few minutes.

When she returned she had a tea towel full of ice cubes in her hand. She leaned close and pressed it to his cheek.

Mickey flinched from the cold.

"'Fanks."

Their eyes met. Maybe it was the bite of ice against his skin that kept him grounded, because he didn't look away.

She smiled.

-----

**9th January 2004**

He had his first retaliation dream that night. His counsellor had told him to expect them. He'd woken up gasping at ugly images his mind had thrown up: the sheer depth of depravity to which he'd stooped.

Himself raping Delaney…

Normal, he tried to tell himself. It's normal. Just a natural part of the healing process, a way to take back the power and sense of control lost to the attack.

He tried to go back to sleep, but the images kept returning. Finally he got up, giving in the need to wash, but when he opened the bedroom door, he heard raised voices.

Ruby and his brother.

He listened, but could only catch odd snatches of the argument floating up from downstairs, where they were trying to keep the kids from hearing. Mickey hoped they were asleep. He remembered what it was like to lie in bed and try to keep the noise of his parent's battles away.

"….hospital…got him…fight!"

"Mickey's….You just…fault."

"…….both miss your mum…"

"….out of this!"

"…you started back smelling of some tart!"

"He's…..wrong with that….enjoying himself."

"And you….enjoying yourself?"

"…not…"

"You're…bloody drunk….bastard!"

Mickey flinched when he heard a thud and something clatter to the floor. Then he heard Ruby shouting in response, although he couldn't hear the words.

Then he heard the front door slam.

In the silence that followed, Mickey could hear crying.

Mickey quietly went downstairs.

Ruby looked up hopefully when he entered the room, then sobbed out when she realised it wasn't her husband.

Mickey went to her and awkwardly took her in his arms.

She sobbed against his chest as he held her. When she finally stopped, she stayed pressed against him. She felt warm and fragile and as he held her, he realised that this was the first time he'd been close to someone in so long. He had never held those women he'd screwed. That had all been physical – just an empty thing. This was different.

This was close and personal and gentle.

He stroked the back of her head and felt her relax even more into him.

"Sorry." She whispered, pulling back. Her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks sticky with tears.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb, smoothing away the last tear. "Don't be sorry."

She went to lean back into the comfort he offered, but suddenly her head was so close to his.

And then their lips were touching…

TBC

--------------------

A/N: Mickey doesn't have an official birthday so I took the date from Chris Simmons, the actor who plays him. Jaime's wife is so named 'cos I'm loving the Kaiser Chiefs right now. And it sort of fits. Or not.


	12. Implosion

So, how's 2 years wait for an update? You had best thank Therm. This is all her doing.

Right, where were we? Oh yes -

After crashing his car, Mickey's brother Jaime takes him home to Colchester, but all is not rosy in the Marshall household. Jaime is out drinking every night and the family are finding it hard to cope with. Mickey is drawn to his sister-in-law, Ruby and following a bust up with her husband, the pair kiss...

...and on with the show.

Warning: Some sexual content ahead.

**Bleeding Inside**

_By NorthernStar_

**Implosion**

Ruby's lips felt hot against his, like she had a fever, and there was something familiar about her taste. She made a small noise as he brought his hand up to her hair and she curved closer to him, pressing into his touch. He could feel her trembling. Or was that him?

He caught sight of his hand in the corner of his eye as it cupped her cheek. Yes, it was him.

His other hand found her waist, fingertips just brushing the patch of bare skin revealed by the gap between her top and jeans. She pushed closer still, bringing her hands up to cup his head and sliding her thighs across his. He felt a stab of panic in his chest, like he was being crowded.

Angry at himself, he kissed back more ferociously. The anger was good, useful; it blocked out everything else.

Ruby murmured his name as her lips broke from his to trace a line down his neck. Her fingers brushed over the fabric of the T shirt he'd been sleeping in, reached the bottom and began to push under, sliding over his skin.

He shuddered at the sensation and his own reaction made him angrier still. His hands became bolder, rougher even, as they stripped off her top. He pushed her down on the sofa and covered her body with his. She responded by snatching and scrabbling at his T shirt until she succeeded in pulling it free. Then she pulled his mouth down onto hers, but he barely registered the sensation of her lips. All he could feel was their bare skin pressed together. He was acutely aware that all that covered him now was his underpants, that they and Ruby's jeans were all that separated them.

Ruby shifted, parting his thighs, bringing him closer still to her. His breath hitched in his chest and his mouth parted from hers as the ugliness clawing at his innards overwhelmed him.

Ruby's hands slid down, slipped into the front of his underwear. He bit his lip as she cupped his softness, barely registering her surprise under the sudden flood of shame that crashed in on him.

"Mickey, it's OK." She murmured and her fingers began to stroke him, coax him.

His mind flashed abruptly on Delaney doing that very act. He could see his face, smell his body, feel the ropes cutting into his wrists as if it were happening. The memory was so sudden, so very strong and real and _there_, that he gasped and choked. He shoved her roughly away and got up. His whole body shook with adrenaline.

Ruby sat up too, breathing heavily. She grabbed her top and pulled it back on.

He could feel her watching him as if she was unsure of what to say or how to react.

"Jaime'll kill me." She finally said.

More like, he would kill Mickey. And that was a strangely comforting thought.

He looked round at her. Her eyes betrayed the shock she felt at what had almost happened between them. "I ain't about to tell him."

She crossed her arms, hugging herself, looking down so she wouldn't have to look at him.

Mickey really didn't want to deal with her pain. He just wanted to be left alone to escape from his own. But for the first time in a long, long time, he felt the tug of concern, that particular ache that had driven him all these years in the Job. "I'm sorry." He told her.

A tear tracked down her cheek. "Me too." She whispered.

He took a step towards her but came no closer. "I...I can't stay, Ruby. I need to get back to London."

He heard her swallow, forcing back something that might have been a sob.

"I'll call Jaime. Say goodbye." He took a few steps towards the door.

"He's never going to stop drinking, is he?"

Mickey stopped, looked back. He didn't answer. "Call me if you need too." He said instead. "You've got my number, yeah?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Mickey dressed quickly and threw the rest of his clothes in his bag, the movement filling up his head so he wouldn't have to think about the last few hours. He glanced in on the girls and Noah, sleeping peacefully, and bid them a silent goodbye before hurrying from the house. He didn't dare say do the same for Ruby. He couldn't bare to look her in the eye.

He knew it wasn't that far to the train station and he hoped that he wouldn't have to wait for a train to London. The night air was frigid and Mickey shivered as he hurried out onto the street. He got no further than a few yard from the front gate before Jaime's car pulled up.

He stopped, watched Jaime get out of his car with a confused expression on his face.

"Mickey?"

"I been called back to London." He lied. "A case I'm working on..."

"Well I hope you told 'em to go screw themselves. You just got out the hospital."

"It's a big case."

"There are plenty of pi- coppers to deal with it." He made to grab Mickey's bag. "They can do without ya."

Mickey stepped back, fist clenching at the word his brother had almost used. It wouldn't take much for him to give in to the ugliness coiled in his gut and making someone else hurt for a change would be a welcome anaesthetic.

"I gotta go." The words ground out. "I'm sorry."

Jaime sighed, anger building in his eyes. "It's Ruby, innit? What's she said?"

"It's not Ruby." He snapped. "It's my job."

Jaime ignored him. "She's been having a go about my drinking, ain't she?"

"No, course not."

"And now she's started on you?" He raged. "Stupid bitch!"

"Jaime...she-"

His brother pushed past him and stormed towards the front door.

Mickey closed his eyes. He didn't want to have to deal with this. But he followed him all the same. "Jaime!"

"Just keep the fuck out of this!" He slammed the door behind him, a noise loud enough to wake the dead.

Mickey heard muffled yelling inside and saw lights come on in the living room. He looked up at the girls room. He knew they would be awake now, lying in the darkness of their bedroom, just as he and Jaime had done all those years ago. He knew what they'd be thinking, feeling..._fearing_.

He took out his mobile phone and dialled 999. His words were clipped when he gave the details and his brother's address, one ear trained on the house, making sure things weren't getting violent.

Because it would, soon enough. Jaime was his father's son.

Mickey stayed there, shivering in the bitter January night, and didn't move off until he heard sirens, saw the flash of police cars and knew that the girls ordeal would soon be over. For tonight at least.

Then he turned and hurried away into the night.

* * *

The early train was surprisingly crowded. Mickey made his way along the carriages, looking for a place to sit away from other people's noise and confusion. He found one that was largely unoccupied, although he suspected that it wouldn't stay that way for long, and watched glassy eyed as the countryside blurred passed the window.

He let his mind drift. He didn't understand what had happened back there. He'd become accustomed to this compulsion to sleep with nameless women, even if he didn't understand it, even if it made him sick inside. But why had it come out even in his brother's home, with his brother's wife?

And why, when it had, it had been completely different to those slappers he'd slept with. Why had the response he felt he _ought _to have, that he understood having – revulsion – come out in what had been the least revolting of the sexual experiences he'd had these last few months?

He ran his fingers through his blond hair and felt the far-too-familiar tugging ache at the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it away, but succeeded only making the log jam harder to ignore. His eyes stung and he rubbed furiously at them with the heels of his hands to stop the traitorous well of tears.

But it was a loosing battle and finally he grabbed his bag and fled to the toilet.

Once inside the foul cubicle, he sank down onto the small section of floor and wept.

TBC... (hopefully not in 2011!)


	13. REWIND: Jack and Jill

Author's note: This chapter takes place while Mickey is at his brother's house.

**Bleeding Inside**

_By NorthernStar_

**REWIND: Jack and Jill**

**3rd January 2004**

Jack had few expectations as he made his way up the old narrow staircase and the sounds of the busy Canley high street faded away. Tasteful and calming pictures lined the route above the banister but despite their presence, Jack grew ever more unnerved with each step. He didn't even believe he needed this and he certainly didn't think it was going to help, either himself or Mickey.

But hope could sometimes be a terrible thing. And he hoped desperately, _terribly_, that there was something he could do to help Mickey heal.

At the top of the stairs was a neat and equally calming waiting room, with a tank of marine fish, one of those indoor planters with trickling water splashing softly onto copper leaves and a large and stunning picture of a sun setting on an English bay at low tide that dominated one of the walls. It looked almost like one could step from here onto the wet and rippled sand.

"May I help you?"

Jack turned to see a small woman behind a neat desk festooned with potted plants to disguise its severity and prevent it from ruining the warm atmosphere. He nodded, "I, um, I have an appointment. With Gillian Burrows." And he automatically flashed his warrant card. "DCI Meadows."

The woman did not look impressed. She merely tapped on her computer and frowned slightly. "You're a little late."

"I, er..." _wasn't going to bother coming_. "I had a bit of trouble finding the place." He said instead. "If it's a problem, I can come back another time." But even as he said the words, he knew he wouldn't. And he was secretly glad to be let off the hook like this.

"No, that's OK." The woman said, a little hurriedly and Jack guessed she knew what he was thinking. "Just be aware the counselling session will be shorter than usual. You can go right on in. Down the corridor, room 4."

Jack thanked the woman and walked in the direction she had indicated.

Room 4 was clearly marked and the brilliantly shining copper plate read "_Gillian Burrows._"

He knocked.

"Come in."

While Jack had few expectations about the business end of counselling, he did have quite a few about the actual process of counselling. He had imagined dark walls, a looming desk with that white head ornament with the areas of the brain mapped out that he'd seen in countless films, rows of expensive leather bound books and those inkblot pictures on the walls.

But instead the room was cosily lit with warm soft light filtering through stained glass windows. It was as tastefully decorated as the rest of the building and while there was indeed a desk and a small bookcase of psychology books, these were decorated with plants and wooden knick-knacks which softened their presence. The one thing he wasn't expecting was the long couch that even a tall man could lay out on and unburden his soul. That had struck him as such a cliché that it had to be wrong. But there it was.

Jack decided, instantly, that he would never even sit on it. And he lay on it over his dead body.

The woman behind the desk gave him a warm smile. She was younger than he'd imagined, mid-thirties at the most, with a pleasingly angular face and neatly pinned blonde hair. "Hello, it's Jack, isn't it?" She said.

"Ms Burrows." He held out his hand.

She shook it, "call me Jill." she said and indicated the sofa. "Please, take a seat."

Jack eyed it suspiciously and moved quite deliberately to the armchair next to it. The armchair, presumably, that the counsellor sat in while her patient laid out and had his head shrunk. He sat down and it made him feel even more uncomfortable, like he imagined the criminals he interviewed must feel in Sun Hill's interview rooms. He thought of Mickey with a dull ache – Mickey, who had to go through counselling twice a week, every week since...

"I thought we'd try some relaxation techniques before we begin. Is that all right?"

"There's no need."

"I'd recommend them."

"Well I'm perfectly relaxed so they'd be a waste of time." Jack said in a harsher tone that he'd wanted. "And you don't exactly come cheap."

Jill smiled. "OK." She sat a little more forward in her chair. "How would you like us to begin?"

Jack shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't a clue. In fact the only part of this session he had any idea of was the end, when he could say goodbye and walk out the door. "Well at the beginning..." But it sounded lame even to him.

The smile she tried to subdue told him what she was thinking – that the relaxation techniques _were_ the beginning. But that reply never came. "I could start by explaining the process I'll be guiding you through." She said instead. "And answer any questions you may have about counselling."

That sounded quite pointless. He was quite aware of what happened in these places. It was quite simple. They got into your head. They messed about in there until you didn't know which way was up and then you told them everything. Jack and his colleagues practised it every day – interrogating criminals into confessions.

And really, the only question he had about this was, when is it over?

"Why don't we just start?"

Jill relaxed back in her chair, the movement almost disguising the quick scrawl of her hand as she jotted something down in her notebook. She caught his look. "I'll be making a few notes as we go. I'm sorry if it's distracting but it's very important that I do. And what I write here is completely confidential."

Given how flexible the police were sometimes with those rules, he wasn't exactly comforted.

"Charlotte tells me you're concerned about a young man she's counselling."

"Mickey." He said. "He was raped."

Jill scrawled something else in her book. "Tell me about him."

"Well, he's..." _what?_ Jack swallowed, looked down at his feet. _Stick to the facts_, he told himself. "He's 28. I've known him for years. We work well together."

"How would you describe your relationship?"

Jack sat straighter in his chair, unsure of what she was implying, or if she was implying anything at all. "How do you mean?"

"Purely professional?" Jill suggested. "Mostly professional? Close? Distant?"

Only one of those examples came anywhere near the truth and it was easier to admit than he would have thought. "Close." His eyes fell on the stained glass behind Jill, a mostly abstract flow of calming greens. Perhaps it was the artfulness of all the calming, trust forging décor but he found himself admitting, "I think Mickey looks on me as..." His words stumbled a little but he pushed himself. "...As a father figure."

Jill nodded and scribbled again and whatever she was writing she had plenty to say. A couple of minutes later, she set down her pen. "How do you look on him?"

Perhaps because he'd had those minutes to break out of whatever calm spell this place had put on him, he drew up and simply replied. "I'm his supervisor." Which of course, was no longer true. And it hadn't really been true when it was.

"That's just a job title." There was no scolding in her voice but she picked that bloody pen up again and made something of it in her notes. His jaw clenched.. "How do you view him in relation to yourself?"

"Look, Ms Burrows-"

"Call me Jill."

"Jill." It tasted bad on his tongue. "I don't see what relevance that has."

He saw surprise on her face and she smiled at him gently. She put down the pen. "Jack...how you look on this young man determines how you react to what has happened to him."

Jack felt himself relax a little. That, at least, made a lot of sense....and that really was a lovely smile.

"So," she finally said, "how do you feel about him?"

Jack's eyes fell on the stained glass again and he thought of all the cases he and Mickey had worked on over the years. How scared he'd been when Ron Gregory had him and the toll his confusion over his reactions had taken on their friendship. How proud he'd been of him when he said he wanted to press charges against Delaney.

"Jack?"

He dragged his eyes back to Jill, realising he'd been lost in thought for some minutes. "The truth is..." _What? _So that had to be his answer, didn't it? "I don't know."

She smiled again. "We can work on that too."

o0o

They talked mainly of cases that Jack and Mickey had worked on over the years. Jill obviously lived in Canley as she was familiar with some of the more high profile incidents like the fire at the station. She made notes here and there but Jack got used to it. He always felt comfortable with work, felt most comfortable talking about work. And he knew Mickey was the same. One of many things they had in common.

But he wasn't about to share that with Jill.

She might end up needing another notebook for a start. The thought made him smile to himself.

The time passed far quicker and with more ease than Jack had ever imagined. After he'd made his next appointment – Jill had recommended 3 at the very least, more if necessary – Jack made his way back down the narrow stairs feeling more positive than he had in a long time. And determined to keep his appointment, something he had never thought would happen just a couple of hours ago.

And it gave him hope. If Mickey's sessions went as well as this, then maybe there was light at the end of the tunnel for the DC.

o0o

**10th January 2004**

Session 2 was where things got tough. Those bloody notes that Jill had made before came back to haunt Jack and she gently probed into all the memories he shared with Mickey. She began asking questions, "why do think that is?" and "how did you feel about that?" so he was forced to examine his friendship with Mickey, the one thing he never dared do, and then she coaxed him into his own conclusions.

None of those conclusions were exactly ground breaking. It was all stuff he'd known before – that Mickey was a mate, that he was pleased that the young man was so like him, that he admired him...that he felt responsible for Mickey beyond the confines of staff management...that Jack feared that it was his fault Mickey was raped...that if he'd only handled things differently, it wouldn't have happened at all.

But Jill compared those things with objects packed away in boxes. You knew they were there inside but until you open the box and hold them up to the light, you really can't appreciate their impact on your life.

And hold Jack up to the light she did.

If it wasn't for that smile, he could easily hate her for it.

o0o

"Guilt is a very limiting emotion." She told him towards the end of their second session. They had been talking of the Delaney case and it was getting frustrating for Jack. It almost felt like they were going in circles because Jill kept missing the point.

"I know." He agreed.

"And it's often carried unnessisarily."

This was what was frustrating. So he came out with the question. "You think I shouldn't hold myself responsible for Delaney?"

Jill sat back. "How do you think things would change for you if I did?"

God he hated that. Never an answer, only another question. "It wouldn't."

"Why is that?"

"Because I was angry. I knew Delaney was getting progressively more violent but the only thing that mattered was getting justice for Rachel." He looked down. "And I knew how to manipulate Mickey into getting it."

"You sound very sure."

He was. He couldn't see how any amount of counselling could get him to doubt that. He remembered his anger over Rachel, he remembered deliberately pushing Mickey's buttons and oh, he had known which ones worked best. "I am."

"So your guilt is necessary?"

He nodded. She made a note of that in her book. Jack was glad. One thing in there wasn't claptrap at least.

Jill leaned forward. "Do you remember discussing your session priorities last week?"

Jack recalled something like that, although the plural made no sense. He had only one goal in mind, one reason to go through with this rubbish. "Helping Mickey."

"And?"

"That's it." For here anyway, plenty of priorities in the real world.

"Are you sure?"

Jack tensed angrily.

Jill turned her note pad around, drawing his eyes to middle of the page, where she had written in large capitals to enable him to read them. J BELIEVES HIS GUILT IS NESSISARY. "Jack, I get the impression that _this _is a priority for you."

"No it's a fact."

"But you agree that guilt is very limiting."

Jack exhaled. They really were going round in circles and he really didn't think his blood pressure could stand another attempt to get her to see that it was his fault. So he decided to just agree with her so they could move forward. "Yes, all right." He sat back into the chair. "It's important." He admitted, "but this is about helping Mickey."

She smiled that pretty smile. "Jack, this is about _you_." She told him. "Mickey is only the _why_ of it."

He really should hate that smile.

"Now our time is almost up so I'm going to sum up, all right?"

Jack glanced at his watch. In fact they'd gone a good ten minutes over.

She held out the pad. "Your guilt is necessary to your life. You understand that guilt can limit you. You want to learn to help Mickey."

Jack felt some of the frustration bleed away. She did get it after all.

"Jack...I don't think you can help Mickey while you're limited by guilt. I sense that you get angry at yourself and at whoever you are with just talking about it. Is that something you'd agree with?"

It felt wrong to admit it. But he did. "Yes."

"Including Mickey."

"I told you. At the hospital." His fingers flexed, remembering the feel of the hospital gown as he'd grabbed at the young man in such fury.

She noted something down. "I want you to think about this over the week, Jack. Can you do that?"

He agreed and stood up, feeling stiff from hunching in the chair. He glanced at the sofa and suddenly realised how much more comfortable and back-friendly it would have been.

This time when he descended those narrow stairs, he felt no hope at all. He felt drained and if this was the toll it took on Mickey too, then there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Just more tunnel.

o0o

**13th January 2004**

Session 3 was a few days later. Jack had purposely made up some crap about being in court later in the week so he could have number 3 over as quick as possible. And then it would be over, full stop. No more sessions.

He had thought a lot about what Jill has said and the only conclusion he could draw was one he didn't like. They talked a little about how Jack had reached his decision before he shared it with her.

"I have to stop feeling guilty if I want to help Mickey."

Her face remained passive. He'd at least expected her to look pleased. It was what she wanted wasn't it?

"Have you thought about how you will achieve this?"

"Well I..." His head bent down. He hadn't even considered that. Did he really expect the guilt to just stop because he wanted it to? "I guess you'd know the right answer to that."

"I have _an _answer." She told him.

He looked up at her.

"You have to forgive yourself."

o0o

They worked on how he could forgive himself. Letter writing was dismissed out of hand as was a face-to-face apology. Mickey didn't need to have Jack piling his issues on top of his own. So they settled on 'positive thought processes' as she called them. When he had a negative thought or feeling about Mickey's rape, he had to remind himself that it was in the past, that he had learned valuable lessons from it and that he forgave himself.

It all sounded like a load of bollocks but sitting there, eyes closed, remembering Mickey's face in the graveyard and how he had clawed at Jack's jacket in his distress just like the guilt had clawed at Jack's insides...And then going through that process in his head. It did take just a fraction of the sting out.

They moved in the final half hour to talking about Mickey's healing. There were issues Jack knew of – shame, PTSD and all the other sound bites that got parroted to him on police training days – and those that were new to him, like negative coping mechanisms and the inability to retain or form close friendships.

He listened to the advice with an intentness that he hadn't paid to the rest of the sessions. Most of it was grim listening and he already recognised some of them in Mickey.

The clock finally ticked around to the O' clock and Jack felt a wash of relief that this whole process was over. Jill had tried to encourage him to make another appointment for 6 weeks time, just so they could review the changes Jack had made, but he refused.

He shook her hand. "Thanks."

She smiled that wonderful smile. "Call me if you have any questions." She told him.

Jack smiled, "I do have one last question." He said. "When can I take you out to dinner?"

o0o

Jack didn't think of Mickey as he walked down those steps for the last time. His mind was on the card Jill had given him and the fact that his dinner invitation hadn't been dismissed out of hand. She had merely smiled that smile and added her personal mobile number to the card beneath the business one.

It reminded him that his own phone had been switched off and he took it out as he walked towards his car. After a few seconds of it being on, a barrage of missed calls came up from a number that he didn't recognise. And whoever it was, they had left a voice mail.

Jack sat in his car and pressed call.

"Hi, um, I'm, um...My name's Ruby Marshall." The unfamiliar voice on the message sounded tense and even frightened. "I got your number from my husband. Mickey's brother. Um, Mickey Webb." Jack felt his heart skip a beat. "Um, he, er, Mickey that is, left here a few day ago and I've been trying to call him and he's not answering... Is he with you? Can you get him to call me? I just need to know he's OK." She sighed. "Um, er, thanks. Sorry." The message ended.

Jack quickly speed dialled Mickey's number. He swore in frustration when that posh voiced message sounded in his ear telling him Mickey's phone was switched off. He dialled the house and got only the answer phone.

Jack chucked his phone down, started the car and wrenched the steering into a 180 turn.

o0o

Jack stared in through the window of Mickey's house, straining to see through the gap between the curtains. As far as he could tell, it was just as it had been a few weeks back, when he and Jaime had picked up some clothes for Mickey. If Mickey had been back, wouldn't the pile of cups and dirt have increased? Or less likely, decreased?

He went next door and knocked. An elderly woman answered it.

"I'm DCI Meadows from Sun Hill." He told her and held out his ID.

She peered at his warrant card myopically.

"Can I ask if you've seen anybody next door?" Jack asked and pointed in the direction of Mickey's home.

"Not since before Christmas." She said. "Nice boy he is. Always puts my wheelie bin out for me on Mondays."

Jack smiled at that. "But not since then?"

"No, if he'd been there yesterday I wouldn't have done this dragging that bin in and out." She showed him a nasty scrape on her arm. "Hate the things."

Jack looked back at Mickey's house. Then he thanked the woman and returned to his car.

He sat in the driving seat, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white.

Where in hell was Mickey?

TBC...

oo00oo

_Sigh_, nearly 4 thousand words. Oh I'd forgotten how _much_ I can write. I always want to do just a little chapter but stuff just keeps coming out!


	14. Lost

**Bleeding Inside:**

**Lost**

_By NorthernStar _

Light filtered in through the drawn curtains. Mickey blinked sleepily up at the unfamiliar ceiling as he slowly came awake. He could hear a TV in another room and seagulls outside. The bed was messy and sometime in the night the duvet had slipped to the floor, leaving him uncovered. The cold had failed to waken him from his drunken slumber, leaving his skin feeling like ice.

He knew he was naked without having to check.

Mickey felt movement beside him but refused to look over to the other side of bed to confirm his suspicions. He rolled away and swung his feet out of the bed. His head pounded ferociously as he forced himself to sit up.

There was a scrabble behind him and he looked up to see a naked girl run past and out the bedroom door. From the horrific retching noise and the swearing that followed, Mickey doubted she had reached the loo in time.

His jeans lay crumpled on the floor and Mickey scooped them up. He desperately wanted a shower, but that would entail going into the bathroom and making conversation with the girl and her puddle of sick.

Mickey searched for his underwear but gave up and just pulled on his jeans. His T shirt was also missing but he found that just outside the bedroom along with his trainers. Standing there, he realised this was a guest house, much like the one he'd found himself washed up in a few days back.

He knocked on the bathroom door, noticing as he did so the fresh damage to his knuckles. "I'll call you." He told her through the wood.

More retching answered him. Not that it needed acknowledging. They both knew it was polite fiction. Just an empty phrase to deflect the awkwardness of the morning after.

Mickey left the guest house, glad of harsh sea breeze whipping at his hair. He walked along the sea front, not going in any particular direction, just letting himself follow his feet.

He had done far too much of that in recent days and he was only just starting to question it. It was like he had finally woken up, only he had never been asleep. But there was a definite dream like quality to his recent memories.

Mickey had got off the train at London some days ago and he had wandered the station for a while, reluctant to return to staring at his own four walls, before getting on another. He didn't remember making any decision to do so. That train had terminated in Brighton and so he had got off and simply _walked_.

He found a guest house only when he noticed that it was very late. And he'd laid in bed all the following day, not sleeping, not thinking, just..._there_. When he did get up, it was late and stepping outside the guest house, he was drawn by the music of the pubs. Once there, he'd drunk until he'd run out of cash and he vaguely recalled someone named Lisa and beating the crap out of some bloke who'd called her slut and being woken by the police for sleeping on the beach...

And then he'd been back in his bed at the guest house again, dozing away the hours before dark, when he rose and did it all again...and again...

How many days had he been like this? 4? 5? A week?

Mickey stopped and stared out to sea. The water was rough, waves crashing against the pebbles and roiling between the stilts on which the famous pier rested.

Mickey had seen this numerous times over the last few days but this was the first time he really _saw_ it. Really took notice of where he was and had enough lucidity to ask himself what the hell was he doing?

What had changed between today and yesterday, he didn't know. He just knew that it had.

o0o

Mickey had a long hot shower when he got back to his guest house, staying under the stream of water until it began to run cold. As he dried himself off, he caught sight of his body in the steamed up mirror. Even with the distortion it was easy for him to see how thin he'd become and count the number of fresh bruises gained in the pubs against the fading ones from the crash.

The landlady had kindly washed and ironed his clothes and laid them on his freshly made bed. He dressed quickly and went downstairs to the guests shared living room. He had to remind himself not to just slouch in front of the TV and while away more hours. To do so would bring an end to this lucidity and that frightened him more than he cared to admit.

"Hello, luv."

Mickey turned to see the landlady come in the door.

"I know it's a bit late, but if you want some breakfast, just ask." She smiled. "Normally breakfast is 6 til 9 but, well, as it's low season."

He didn't recall eating anything since he'd been in Brighton, certainly not while he was sober and he was pretty sure the only calories he'd had when he was drunk came in the alcohol.

"I love some." He smiled. "Ta."

She led him into the kitchen area and encouraged him to sit down at the beautiful farmhouse table. She made him tea and he sipped at it as he watched her quickly and expertly prepare a full English breakfast. As she did so, she chatted away, asking him questions like "where are you from?" that didn't require any more than one or two word answers, which was fortunate because that was all he could physically give right now.

"Thanks," he said when she finally placed a large plateful in front of him. She refreshed his tea and then disappeared back into the private areas of the house.

Mickey picked at the food, determined to finish it, but his stomach was protesting every mouthful. He thought as he ate, turning the last few days over and over in his mind, and he kept coming back to one of the training days he'd had when he was a PC.

Missing Persons.

He remembered what so many of those who went missing had said, years later, when they were back with their families. Many of them had said that it had just happened. It wasn't planned. They didn't even think about it while they were leaving. They had been sincere when they left their homes with a "see you later, just popping to the shops" but between then and there they'd got lost somewhere, in their own heads. And they didn't go home.

As a young PC, Mickey had never managed to get his head around that, couldn't quite see why anyone would just...snap like that.

Years passed and he encountered more missing persons over his career and had learned about the different types of trauma that had led up to disappearances. He had learned more about people. And with that gained experience, he had come to appreciate their reasons.

But he had never understood it.

Until now.

Because as he turned the last few days over in his head, he recognised his own behaviour in theirs.

He knew now that it wasn't 'snapping'. It didn't have to be a breakdown or some sort of mental collapse. It really did just happen.

And it was disturbing to think that maybe it had happened to him.

On the tail of that was the suddenly realisation that _he _might be missed. Jaime might have tried to call him. Or Ruby or Charlotte or...or Jack...

He tried to dismiss the thought. As far as Jaime was concerned, he was back in London and he doubted Ruby would call him, given what happened. And work and Jack and Charlotte would all assume he was still at his brothers house.

But the worry crept in all the same.

o0o

His mobile lay in his bag, screen black, where it had long since run out of charge. Mickey picked it up, trying to remember where he'd packed his charger, or even if, in his haste to leave Jaime's, he'd packed it at all.

He found it in one of the bags many pockets and set about charging his phone. It took a while for it to accept a signal but it finally did.

And after a few minutes, text after text came his way.

Mickey sighed.

Guess they had noticed after all.

o0o

He called Jack's house because he knew the DCI wouldn't be home and left a message. His gut clenched in rebellion of his cowardice but he couldn't stomach talking to anyone right now.

"Jack, listen, I'm OK. I'm in Brighton. I just needed some time to meself, that's all." He said when the machine picked up. "I'm heading back now so..." The words ran out, with options from _I'll call you _to _maybe we could go for a drink_ stalling in his throat. "So... I'll see ya round," is what finally came out.

The walk to the train station took him passed an off license and he bought a bottle of scotch for the journey. A cheap brand he'd never heard of and it tasted cheap too. But it served its purpose and warmed his guts and numbed his thoughts.

o0o

The clouds got thicker the closer the train got to London and when he stepped out he was greeted by heavy sleet. His thin jacket soon became wet through, but the cold felt good against his beaten skin.

o0o

Jack took the long way home to avoid the roadworks. His headlights lit a figure on the pavement and his mind recognised the walking pattern before he recognised the blonde head.

Jack stopped the car.

"Mickey!"

The young man turned, his face lit up by the beams.

Jack heard his own intake of breath.

Mickey's face was covered in bruises.

"Jack." He said.

"Where the hellva you been?"

"Brighton."

"Brighton?" Jack repeated. "And look at the state of you!"

Mickey's eyes betrayed anger. "I just 'ad a bit of trouble. Some geezer mouthing off, that's all."

"That's all?" Jack could hear himself getting stuck in parrot mode. "It looks like he knocked seven bells out of you!"

Mickey took a step forward. "What you implying, ay?"

Jack stepped back, trying to keep to everything Jill had told him. _Don't react with anger, _she'd told him, _that's what he wants. _"I'm just worried about you, Mickey."

"Well don't be. I'm fine."

Jack swallowed his desire to argue with him over that and instead gestured at the car. "I'll run you home if you like." He made it sound like a choice. Jill would have approved of that.

Jack could read the reluctance on Mickey's face, but he didn't refuse. "OK, ta."

They both got in the car and Jack couldn't help noticing the almost empty bottle of scotch poking out of the bag Mickey dumped on the back seat.

"So what did you do in Brighton?"

"Not much."

"Did you go on the pier?"

"Nah."

"You should have done." Jack smiled, "my two loved the pier when they were kids."

"I ain't a kid, Jack."

It was pitched at just the right tone to invite him to retort "_well stop acting like one_" but Jack recognised the ploy to push him way. "No, guess not." He said instead. "Still looks like you enjoyed the night life."

"Wot's that supposed to mean, ay?"

Another ploy to get him on the defensive and it was hard to resist the temptation to yell at the lad for his stupid behaviour. Jack had always felt guilty at his ability to push Mickey's buttons. He hadn't really appreciated how well Mickey could press his. Until now.

Jack pressed his foot down, pushing the car up to the speed limit. He fell silent and it seemed Mickey was glad of it.

It didn't take long before Jack pulled up outside of Mickey's home. The DC got out with a gruff "thanks" and started to walk away.

Jack got out of his car. "I could murder a cup of tea."

Mickey stopped.

Jack waited.

A smile graced those bruised lips, "yeah." Mickey agreed. "Me too."

.o0o.

Mickey opened the door, scooped up the huge pile of letters and junk mail, and then dumped his bag down amid all the mess.

"I'll put the kettle on." Jack said and walked past him into the kitchen.

Mickey sorted through his mail, tossing the junk mail aside, placing the bills on the telephone table and...

His heart felt like it stopped in his chest.

"Mickey, where's the..." Jack's voice trailed off. "Mickey?"

He held up a brown envelope. "Medical results." He managed to say. "It's been 3 months."

"Is that for..?"

The DC nodded. "HIV."

* * *

TBC...

Author's note: It'll probably be a while before I update again as I've just done nothing but write fic (for other fandoms) and I think I'm all written out.


	15. Found?

**Bleeding Inside**

_by NorthernStar_

**Found?**

They sat at the kitchen table, drinking black tea since the only milk in the fridge had begun to ferment into cheese, not really talking but not really silent either. The brown envelope lay unopened in front of Mickey and he was staring at it as if he could see through the paper if only he tried hard enough.

"I'll open it, if you like." Jack had offered, but Mickey had shook his head. He wanted to do it himself. It was just harder than he imagined it would be.

Mickey wasn't afraid that Delaney was HIV positive. He knew enough about that bastard to know that if that he was, he would have enjoyed taunting Mickey with that. So the chances were good that Delaney was clean. But that didn't silence the nagging doubt that pointed out the flaw in that reasoning - maybe Delaney had picked it up and didn't know. His lifestyle of prostitutes made him high risk.

But even then...

The doctors at the rape suite in St Hughes hospital had prescribed Mickey anti-virals and he had taken them. No-one guaranteed their success but they had told him they significantly lowered the chances of infection.

And if Mickey was being totally honest with himself, he had more chance of catching it from all those slappers he'd slept with these last few months. He had _lost count_ of how many there'd been now and he never bothered with condoms. When he stopped to think about it, it terrified him. So mostly, he didn't think about it.

Until now, when he had too, when the reality was made of paper and ink and it was right there in front of him demanding his attention.

"There's a lot they can do these days." Jack said. "It's not the death sentence it used to be."

Mickey looked up. It sounded like empty comforts and even if it were true, HIV would still be a _life_ sentence and he already had one of those to deal with – living with the rape.

"Not that..." Jack trailed off.

Mickey took a sip of black tea and found it had gone cold, but swallowed it down anyway, needing the kick from the caffeine now that the haze from the alcohol he'd drunk on the train had started to fade. It had left his head achy but reasonably clear.

He reached for the letter. The fear coiling in his gut surprised him. These last few months had been so bad and trapped in his world of shame, it felt like every minute of every day his soul was being sliced with a razor. And yet... he was afraid of dying. No matter how terrible his life was...he wasn't ready to give it up. There had to be some hope in that.

The envelope tore easily. His fingers didn't tremble when they pulled the letter free and they remained firm when unfolding the paper. Nor did they shake when his eyes scanned the words on the pages.

His hands only began to tremor after the letter fell from his fingers. He heard it flutter to the table as he buried his head in his palms.

He heard a frantic shuffle and looked up to see Jack grabbing up the letter, his face deathly white, dread patterned starkly in his eyes.

"Negative." He gasped out as Jack frantically searched the pages of the letter. "Jack, it's negative."

Jack's relief was evident as was his awkwardness when that immediate rush wore off. He put the letter back on the table with badly concealed guilt in his eyes. He really had no right to pry into Mickey's mail, no matter what the reason.

But perhaps it was the relief Mickey felt or the tiredness burning behind his eyes or the tug of some half forgotten feeling in his chest that kept him from calling Jack on his nosiness. He let out a long breath and sat back in the chair.

Jack began tidying away the tea cups and making token efforts to bring order to the disaster area that was Mickey's kitchen, probably to cover his embarrassment.

Mickey watched him for a long while, not really thinking, just letting time tick by. Jack was surprisingly efficient at cleaning and the sink was full of water soapy water and dirty dishes and mouldy mugs in no time. He found himself smiling and was glad that Jack's back was to him.

He got up and pulled a tea towel from a draw. "I'll dry."

o0o

They talked about Jack's work as cleaned, safe topics like Jack's opinion of the new staff at Sun Hill before moving on to the more emotive conversation of Juliet's funeral and memorial service which Mickey had missed.

When they'd finished the kitchen, they moved on to the sitting room, which was hidden under a stack of fast food cartons and newspapers. Jack gave up trying to sort through the mess and simply grabbed a black bag, put it in the centre of the room and they both began filling it with rubbish. Jack found the mammoth task therapeutic. It was easier to talk when their hands were full and their attention was taken up by other things.

They touched on the court cases that Jack had coming up but Jack diverted the conversation as soon as he saw the guarded, haunted look in Mickey's eyes and realised what was causing it: his thoughts had turned to Delaney's trial, still awaiting its court date. But the look passed when they got on to happier topics like Jack's new year with his family.

It was somewhere in the chatter and the occasional laughter that Jack realised that he hadn't felt this companionable with Mickey since before all that business with Ron Gregory. Jack had never really understood what changed or had been lost that terrible day when Mickey and Robbie were in that paedophiles clutches but since then it had always felt like he was two sentences away from anger in the young man's presence. Had it been found again?

He looked over at Mickey, really looked, at the pallid colour of his skin, at the hair that hadn't been cut in months falling over his brow and at the clothes that hung off his too thin bones and it was like looking at a stranger.

Perhaps it was just that so much water had passed under the bridge since then?

He sighed and glanced at the clock. The position of the hands surprised him: nearly midnight.

"I should go." He said.

Mickey stifled a yawn. "Yeah." He took the black bag, tied the top and disappeared with it.

Jack had put his coat on by the time Mickey got back from taking the rubbish out.

"Looks good." Mickey said, glancing around the room.

Jack smiled. "Could do with a vacuum."

It was something of an understatement and Mickey gave a rare smile. Jack returned it before heading towards the door. He opened it to let himself out and turned to offer a goodbye.

Mickey caught his eye. "Thanks, Jack." Simple words but full of meaning.

"Take care."

He gave a quick nod, "you too."

Jack gave him one last smile before walking away.

o0o

It was raining. Just like it had been that first day. And here he was again, sitting in his car outside the MIT offices, his stomach clenched tight, torn between going in, facing up to what had happened to him and getting on with the job he loved and running away to that place inside himself that he'd found in Brighton.

Mickey took a breath. It was so hard. Why did it have to be so hard?

These last few days had been about getting himself back on track and during every second of it he had wanted to give up. But he hadn't.

His house was tidy. His hair had been cut even though the process of having someone so close and touching him had made him sick to his stomach. And...

And he'd talked to Charlotte, briefly and over the phone, but it was a start. He stopped short of promising her he would keep those counselling sessions but it didn't matter. His lips might not have made that vow but his heart had despite the ache it caused.

Because his heart wanted to beat this.

Because he knew he _could_ beat this.

He was Mickey Webb.

Survivor.

A smile crept across his lips.

Then he got out the car, pulled up his collar against the rain and ran towards his work.

--End of Part One--

* * *

Notes: This isn't the end of "Bleeding Inside" but I have intentionally left it in a place that doesn't feel so open ended. I've got so little time for writing fanfic these days and I'm not sure quite when I'll get round to more.


End file.
